


The smith's daughter and the Hound

by Maroucia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-05
Updated: 2012-12-05
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:36:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 11
Words: 32,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maroucia/pseuds/Maroucia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa is the daughter of a smith living in Flea Bottom and Sandor is a member of the Kingsguards. Circumstances will bring them together but everything else will try to tear them apart. Will it work?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Sandor**

 

What a buggering day it has been. On the morning, Joffrey had made sure to recall everyone present at court that he was the little piece of shit they all knew he was but that all feigned to ignore - and Sandor was well aware that he was no exception to the rule. He was no better than any of them but at least he was honest about it.  _Well, if that thought can make you feel better about your bloody self, dog, take it._

   
The boy-king had held court today and had proved once again how cruel he could be to the smallfolk. It was a harsh time for them; the war that was raging in the Stormlands had lasted for more than three moons by now and had had a lot of consequences over the well being of the inhabitants of King’s Landing. The doors of the city had been closed since the beginning of the conflict and the supplies of food came through the city walls very sparingly. The King and the noblemen didn’t lack of any food though. They even ate bloody too well - Sandor had thought, looking at the puffy faces and bulging bellies of the men surrounding him and Joffrey - but as always, the weak were the ones to pay for the faults of the strong. That was nothing new to him: the world was an awful place after all but it seemed to Sandor that each day that went by, Joffrey found a new way to make it even worse.

   
The war had started after Jon Arryn, late hand of the King, had refused to bend the knee to the young new king after the suspicious death of his father, King Robert. Arryn’s reason for his rebellion had shocked everyone present to hear it: he  _pretended_ that Joffrey and his siblings were all the products of an incestuous relationship between Queen Cersei and her brother, Jaime Lannister. Sandor couldn’t help but snort at the memory of that scene. He had known Joffrey was no true Barratheon for quite a while now and he had been bloody surprised to realise that he apparently had been the only one to notice the fucking obvious.  _Those noblemen’s heads are as empty as the wineskins I have left in my chamber but at least my wineskins once had a purpose, unlike those useless fuckers._

  
After Arryn’s declaration, the man had been condemned to death, bringing fury all over the Seven Kingdoms where the old fool had been well liked by a lot of people. Yet, the defeated Hand was apparently not the only fool in Westeros as the late King Robert’s two younger brothers were seemingly eager to prove everyone. Both of them had decided that since their Kingly nephew was not their nephew after all, they might as well try to steal him his pretty crown.  _What kind of men would fight over a piece of jewellery?_  Sandor had never understood that hunger for power and recognition some men had. As for himself, if he could fight, kill, drink and fuck, he would never dare complain. 

  
The two Baratheons brothers had fought in the Stormlands for a while before Renly, the younger of them -  _and also, the better dressed,_  Sandor mused with contempt - had died in mysterious circumstances very recently. Stannis, who was now on his way north, would soon be ready to attack King’s Landing and attempt to take the boy-King off his ugly and sure as hells, uncomfortable Iron chair. 

  
Meanwhile, in the capital, the smallfolk were dying of hunger as fast as flies caught in a sudden winter storm and a lot of them were coming to the Red Keep everyday to ask for food to their king while he was holding court. Sandor was not a merciful man and he usually did not take pity on anyone but the cruelty Joffrey had shown of late toward the unfortunate fools that had the nonsense to come and beg him for help was simply unnecessary…

A new height had been reached today. A man had presented himself this morning, crying like a fucking child while telling the King of how his children and wife were getting skinnier everyday. Joffrey’s solution to that had been to kill the man and ask for his body to be brought to his family so that they could break their fast on his remains. Sandor has felt his stomach turn: that sounded like something Gregor would do! The boy-King had a habit of resolving the commoners’ problems by killing them and Sandor was well used to it but that was just too much. Another line had been crossed today and it made him feel sick. At least, he had the evening and night off and so he could attempt to drown himself  in wine and find himself a fuck with a nice and willing silver-stag-worth whore. He fucking needed those things right now.  
  
The Gold cloak guards that were posted at the entrance of the Red Keep unlocked the massive wooden doors and let the heavy structures swing open without any question asked as soon as they saw the Hound astride his great black war stallion approaching. Sandor knew that most people preferred to avoid contact with him in fear of the infamous reputation that preceded him everywhere he went. He didn’t mind it really. Those men were only cowards if they didn’t dare to confront him and preferred to hide safely at the top of their wall like little girls in their mother’s skirts. Sandor hated wasting his words on cravens and so he might have thanked them for not talking to him if they had been anything more than mockeries of men.  
  
It was a beautiful day and the sun was still high in the sky.  _Still a few hours before supper time but that won’t stop me from getting fucking drunk as soon as I can_. Sandor couldn’t wait for the blessed moment when he would finally feel that strong wine he liked so well, black as blood, run down his throat, its warmth burning him from the inside as liquid fire much better than any real flame he’d ever seen. It wouldn’t be very long; the tavern where he usually went to drink and whore at was at the outskirts of Flea Bottom. That area of the city was not fit for a bloody member of the _prestigious_ King’s guard as he laughably was but he didn’t give a shit about what was fitting or not. The company of the dirt stained commoners and drunken sellswords suited him much more than the one of all those pompous knights and useless noblemen he was usually surrounded with at court. 

  
Sandor sighed in relief when he finally got to the tavern. Jumping off the back of his horse, he gave the reins to the ugly boy that took care of inn’s stables.   
  
“Here boy. Careful with that horse: he’ll bite half of that face of yours if you’re stupid enough to get too close.”

 

Sandor had taken a liking in scaring the lad when he came here. it was not like if it was hard anyway. The boy was looking at his feet, shacking as he nodded and went carefully away with the horse. 

  
As he was about to finally open the door of the tavern, Sandor heard a woman’s scream coming from a street nearby. He was far from the knight-in-shinning-armour kind of man - he even hated those bastards really - but still, the feminine voice that was pleading for help seemed so desperate and confused that he could not help but go and find out what was happening. 

 

 _A whore probably, with an insistent customer. The sort that wants the goods but can’t spare a bloody cupper._  The screams continued as Sandor made his way to the dead end from where they were coming. The place was a well known working area where the cheapest whores of the city did their thing, the ones that couldn’t even convince a man to pay a couple of cuppers for an hour at a dirty room.  _Why would I go help one of those old toothless whores, what do I bloody care? She can go to the seven hells after having been raped by every fucking men that this damn city has to offer, for as long as I’m concerned._ But still, Sandor didn’t stop. The voice seemed young, and even if deformed by fear, it sounded sweet and soft.

Sandor was now close enough to have a good view over the whole scene without being spotted by anyone. From where he was, he could see the back of a man standing in front of a young woman and slowly approaching her. His victim was backing away from him but had now reached a wall with her back and her eyes were big and scared. She was a pretty thing all right: tall with thick auburn hair that shined like cupper under the sun and her skin was as white as any high lady would dream hers to be even though the girl was obviously a commoner judging by the way she was dressed in a simple brown roughspun dress. She was no whore though and that was a given. The modesty of the clothes she wore would have pleased a septa.   
  
“Please ser! Leave me alone! I’m scared and only want to go home… If it pleases you of course.” The girl bowed a little, lowering her pretty blue eyes filled with tear.

   
“Shut up, girl! I’ll repeat it to you one last time: you give me no fight and I promise you you’ll keep those pretty white teeth of yours, but you continue to resist me like you do and you can be sure that your parents won’t recognise you tonight when you’ll come home to them. That is if you ever do, of course. Understand?”

 

The girl was shaking like a leaf. “What do you want from me, ser? Please, I don’t want to displease you but I’m so scared! Don’t hurt me! Please, ser!” she managed to say in-between hardly controlled sobs.   
  
Sandor was astounded. That girl was being attacked by some obliviously third-rate, poxy sellsword but she was giving him ‘sers’ and was polite as any lady would be to a high Lord.  _She’s chirping at him like a defenceless little bird. A little bird that don’t realise it’s not being attacked by a fucking cat but by a dirty rat coming straight from the city’s sewers! That bastard must be having the time of his life right now, being called ‘ser’ with so much reverence by such a pretty and innocent little thing._  

 

The ugly bugger violently ripped open the bodice of the little bird’s dress and even from where he was still hiding, Sandor could see her pretty little milky teats bounce as the cloth was torn apart by the hairy hands of her attacker. That’s when Sandor decided he could not take it anymore and ran to them as fast as he could. The man didn’t have time to see him coming from behind him; he was too bloody busy leering at the girl’s round breasts and was taken by total surprise when Sandor thrust his well sharpened dagger through the side of his neck. The man let out a scream but he was dead already as Sandor moved the blade to cut more tendons and veins. The blood splashed out like a fucking fountain and the girl cried in a high pitched voice before quickly passing out.  _Oh well, that sure as fuck was not a pretty sight to look a, but at least it’s not her own blood she had to witness flowing out of her body like some deadly dark river…_

  
Sandor paused to take a good look at her.  _She’s younger than I thought from afar. Five and ten or six and ten at the most…_  The girl had some of her attacker’s blood splattered on her dress but it really wasn’t that bad; the worst was the way her bodice was ripped open from its once modest cleavage down to where her flat belly was, leaving nothing to the imagination on its way. Sandor was frozen in place for an instant as he admired her beauty. She was so amazingly delicious-looking, laying there on the ground like some buggering offering from some unusually generous gods: a half naked goddess herself waiting for him to take her entirety... At the thought, Sandor felt his breeches get uncomfortably tight and he was instantly disgusted at himself for it. He couldn’t save a girl and then, do exactly as the fucking bastard he had just killed moments before had intended to. She didn’t deserve it, she seemed far too innocent and pure… And anyway, Sandor had never had any liking for unwilling women in his bed and had thus always preferred paid whores. He was not very found of rape in general, especially with women that had not even gone looking for it.

 

He had never saved a girl like that before, with no reason at all, but there was a first time for everything. _Fuck, dog! You’re lying to yourself here. You know you want nothing more than to fuck this girl and hope she’ll be so thankful that you’ve killed her almost-rapist that she’ll jump in your arms and let you rape her yourself._  

 

Sandor felt the burned corner of his mouth twitch and took a few deep breaths of air to try to calm himself down. The little bird needed to be taken someplace where she could rest for a while and drink some fresh water. The tavern next door where he had planned to go spend the evening was as good a place as any other for that purpose, he thought. It was no fitting institution for a young girl like her but he had no other idea and didn’t really care anyway. She needed something to cover herself though. Sandor took off his white King’s guard’s cloak from his shoulder and wrapped it around her before taking her in his arms.

 

The girl was as light as feather and he could now smell the sweet perfume that oozed from her skin while feeling her hair, soft as silk, caressing his arm. As Sandor walked to the Tavern, she made a soft moan and started to shift very faintly. She looked as if she was going to come round.

  
“Shhh Little bird, you’re safe now,” the man rasped as softly as he could. He felt her delicate body relax against his torso and arms and she seemingly felled asleep again.

   
Kicking open the door of the Tavern, Sandor saw in a quick glance that the common room was empty apart from the staff of the place. He walked to a bench, the staff watching him in astonishment as he laid the girl down over it as gently as he could. Then, he turned around and asked the serving wenches for some water, a wineskin and a few pieces of cloth to sponge the girl’s face.

  
A woman came back fast enough to his taste with a bowl of fresh water, a few towels and the precious and much anticipated wine, same as Sandor had asked, and he told her to put it all on a table next to him. “Good. You can leave now, woman. I’ll take care of the girl myself,” he said, not even sparing a glance her way.

  
“I know her. She’s Ned the smith’s daughter. What happened to her?”

 

The wench seemed genuinely concerned and so Sandor answered back. “She’s been attacked by some dirty bastard but I came just in time and took care of the little piece of shit of a man he was,” he said in a low voice, his lips curling in a cruel and satisfied grin.  
  
Sandor dipped a piece of cloth in the bowl of water, soaking it before wringing it so that it would not drip too much, and then brushed it as delicately as he could on the little bird’s forehead. She moaned, her full lips parting in the most titillating manner, and started to stretch herself on the bench, her body moving in a way that attracted attention to her luscious curves and Sandor felt himself grow slightly hard again.  _Damned, you dog…_

  
Her eyes opening slowly, the little bird looked lost for the few seconds that it took for them to be able to focus correctly. When she finally regained full conscience, she raised her gaze to Sandor but as soon as it fell on him, she jumped and gasped and the man watched as her now rounded eyes filled with fear.

  
_This is great…_ was all he could think right then.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sansa**

 

Sansa was floating in a world made of clouds, where everything was white and full of light. _Am I dead?_ she distantly wondered. Suddenly, she felt two strong arms lift her from wherever she was and memory started coming slowly back to her. _I was lost, not far from home, but the streets were like a labyrinth to me. Soon I was in a dead end and a man attacked me. I was so scared. Oh! And he even ripped my dress open! And then… and then blood started to flow from his neck and his eyes became at once furious and scared before dying out completely. It was so frightening! I couldn’t stand it and fainted._

Someone had saved her but Sansa had not seen who it was. She had no doubt it was a man, judging from the size of the arms that were holding her tight against a huge and muscled torso. Sansa was still feeling dizzy, yet she was curious to see who had saved her. Trying to open her eyelids, she started stirring in the man’s hold but even that was too demanding. She was so sore; she was certain she was covered with bruises from head to toes and she felt stabs of pain piercing through her as she moved.

That’s when Sansa heard the voice of her saviour for the first time. He was comforting her, telling her she was safe. The girl could feel his chest vibrate while he softly addressed her in a low voice. He sounded like no one she had ever known before; it was as if he rasped instead of talking, making each word sound as a thrust of steel sharpening itself on a whetstone. Sansa was used to that noise: her father was a smith who made and took care of swords and all sort of other blades for noblemen and sellswords. The abyss she had been in mere instants before was reclaiming her and since the massive body of the man that carried her felt so good and comforting, Sansa didn’t even fight and allowed it to engulf her again. She felled back into the dreamy white world she had just left, wondering who she had to thank for her life.  _It must be a knight, a brave and gentle knight just like in the songs!_  Sansa had always loved those stories where valorous knights saved defenceless maidens. She would never have dared dream that one day, her wish might come true and that she would step inside of a song herself and be saved by such a man. 

All notion of timewas lost to Sansa for a moment at least and so when she felt something cold and wet brush on her forehead and brows, she was utterly lost. She wasn’t extremely comfortable with her back painfully laid over some sort of wooden plank. All around her, she could hear people talking and a woman was exchanging words she did not understand with the rasping-voice man. _I have to thank him. I owe him my life_ , she suddenly decided, stretching her body with difficulty while slowly opening her eyes. At first, all she saw was a confused blur surrounding her and she felt lost and light headed. It took a few seconds for her eyes to finally focus correctly and when they did at last, she saw the massive body of a man standing on one knee before her. Raising her gaze meet his, she was not prepared for the shock that went through her as she saw the appearance of her saviour’s face.

The left side of his face was burned in the most terrifying manner, with twisted masses of flesh going all the way to his scalp and ear and his long black hair was brushed over the scars in a useless attempt to dissimulate them. His eyes were dark and shined with a cruel gleam and the gaunt features of the untouched side of his face, with high cheekbones and a strong jaw, were already to themselves giving him a fearsome aspect. He was the very portrait of a murderer, the kind of man Sansa would have been scared to death of if she had ever crossed path with him in the streets.

Gasping, she tried to move away from him but she was still laying down and her body was aching too much. But then, she abruptly recognised him and her fear only grew stronger as she did.  _The Hound! It’s the Hound!_ The man was known all over the Seven Kingdoms. Even in the North from where she came, stories of his brutality and gruesome appearance were told by travelling freeriders and sellswords. She had herself even seen him once, although very shortly and from afar. It had been two weeks before, on the day Princess Myrcella had taken a ship to Dorne to rejoin her betrothed. She had been escorted by the whole court and Sansa had gone with her mother to try to get a glimpse of the King who was said to be very handsome. The Hound had been with him, towering over everyone that surrounded him. She had found him so gloomy; Sansa had wondered how the young King could stand being in the company of such a horrible-looking man.

But now, it was Sansa’s turn to be in his company. Quickly though, she reminded herself that he had saved her. She knew she was being very rude by showing her fear to him as she was doing. Taking a deep breath, Sansa gathered her courage and decided she should tell him how grateful she was for what he had done for her.  
  
“I would like to thank you, ser, for… for saving me.” She was still on her back, but she had raised herself on her elbows, keeping her eyes politely lowered as she spoke. Smallfolk were not allowed to look at noblemen in the eyes and she was thankful for that; she was not certain she could have born staring at the Hound’s scars for too long.   
  
“You look more scared than thankful to me.” His voice sounded disgusted and she felt herself begin to shiver.   
  
“I’m very sorry, ser. I didn’t mean to displease you. Only I was startled by… by…”

The man didn’t give her a chance to finish her sentence. “By my ugly face, is that it?” he suggested, snorting.

“No, no! Of course not! I have no right to judge you, ser. I know my place. You were so brave to rescue me as you did. Without you, ser, I would surely be dead by now.” Her voice was weak and unconfident as the one of a small child.

The hoarsest and most lugubrious laughter Sansa had ever heard then came from the Hound’s throat. “You think me brave when all I did was chase off a buggering rat?” He snorted again. “And don’t call me ‘ser’, I despise everything that’s related to knighthood. Those buggers can all go burn in the seven hells as far as I’m concerned.”

Sansa was so scared that tears were pealing in her eyes. She didn’t know what to reply but she figured being polite and respectful was probably her only way out of this unbearable situation. “As it pleases you, my lord,” was all she could think of saying.

“ _As it pleases me_ …” he repeated, making the words sound like curses. “Well it doesn’t please me at all! Not many things pleases me, I’ll bloody tell you that. Your chirping for one. It’s fucking annoying. Your little courtesies are only pretty lies and I like looking at reality _straight in the face_.” With that, the Hound pinched her chin with his large hand and raised her face, approaching his closer. Sansa’s stare was still respectfully lowered and it seemed to annoy him.  
  
“Look at me!” The aggressively in his rough voice made her heart jump in fear. She obeyed though and met him gaze with frightened eyes. His own eyes were filled with rage and the muscles of his face were tense, especially his jaw, his mouth twitching on its burned side.   
  
“That’s better.” He paused for a moment before adding, more calmly: “You see, that’s how the truth looks like. Not pretty, isn’t it? You’re really a little bird, aren’t you? You think your chirping will get you anywhere? It won’t. Did it help you when that bastard tried to rape you? He didn’t give a shit about your pretty words. I thought you small folks were wiser than that. Never heard of something called street smart? It might’ve helped you fare better. You’re not from this city, aren’t you?”  
  
“No, my lord, I’m from the North. My family has moved to King’s Landing less than a year ago.”  
  
“It’s bloody obvious, I’ll tell you that. You better learn to adapt fast because believe my bloody words: this bugger won’t be the last to try to rape you, especially if you keep hanging in these streets.” He released her painful chin from his strong grip and Sansa lowered her gaze at once.  
  
The Hound turned around and took a bowl that was set on the table next to him and approached it to her lips. “Here girl, drink some water, you must be thirsty.”

She was and so Sansa brought her lips to it and let him pour the fresh liquid in her mouth. Some of the water went dripping along her cheeks down to her neck but she closed her eyes in pleasure as she felt the cold flow caressing the inside of her throat, a much needed healing balm for its sore and dry wall. She drank from his hand for what seemed to be an eternity.

“Thank you, my lord”, she said shyly afterward.

The Hound was watching her with a strange gleam in his eyes. “You have a name, do you?” he asked after an awkward moment of silence. 

“Yes, my lord.”

“What is it?” His voice sounded softer now and it made her feel a little better.  
  
“Sansa, my lord.”  
  
“ _Sansa_ ,” the Hound rasped lowly, the hoarse sound of his voice making her own name almost unrecognisable to her ears. As he uttered it, the man was staring at her with such a queer intensity that Sansa was starting to feel uneasy all over again. “You’re a smith’s daughter I’ve heard.”  
  
“Who told you that?”  _How does he know?_  
  
“The serving wench right there,” he said, giving a nod in the direction of a woman just behind him.

Sansa raised herself more and glanced around her. She hadn’t paid any attention to her surroundings yet. She recognised to serving wench as a woman living near her home and gave her a small smile before realising in what kind of establishment she was in.  _Oh! A tavern!_  This was no place for a maiden, her father would be so mad at her if he knew where she was! The Hound seemed to notice her discomfort and be amused by it, his lips slowly curving in the weirdest half-grin she had ever seen.

“Don’t worry girl, I won’t keep you here for longer than necessary. But first, you need to eat something,” he told her, raising a hand and snapping his fingers to draw the attention of Sansa’s neighbour. When he asked for a bowl of soup, the woman immediately went to the kitchen and left them on their own again.

Grasping her by the shoulders, the man pulled her up to help her sit completely and Sansa had to grip at the cloak that covered her nudity for it to stay correctly in place as he rose her.  _Is that his King’s guard cloak?_ she wondered, glancing at it. She felt strangely comforted and honoured to be wrapped in such a strong and prestigious symbol. 

Pulling himself a chair, the Hound sat in front of her at the other side of the table before taking the wineskin that was laid between them and raising it his mouth. After a long and greedy pull, he handed it to her.

“Some wine might do you some good, little bird. Here. Take it.”

Obedient, she took it from him but only looked at it, wavering.

“You don’t like wine?”  
  
“No, it’s just that… I’m not allowed to drink it…” she revealed, blushing deeply.  
  
“Who says that? Your father, I wager? He’s not here you know.”

Sansa was still hesitant.

“How old are you to be still so afraid of your father? You’re too old for that, aren’t you?”

  
“I am four and ten, my lord.”

His grin brusquely disappearing, the Hound snorted. “Still a child.” His voice sounded even harsher than before and Sansa was confused as to why he seemed so displeased.

“Anyhow, you’ll take a sip. Come on girl, do as I bid.”

Sansa didn’t dare disobey. The wine was stronger than the one her parents allowed her to drink on special occasions and she grimaced at its taste.

It made the Hound laugh. “Not to your liking, little bird? I’ll keep it for myself then,” he decided, reaching for the skin and taking a long swig out of it.

The kitchen door opened at that instant and the serving wench came in the common room with a bowl of steaming soup in her hands. After having set it down on the table in front of Sansa, she gave her a spoon and went away.

The delicious smell oozing from the bowl was making Sansa’s stomach rumble in anticipation and she gazed in the Hound’s direction, unsure if she should start eating or not. “Do you want some, my lord?” she asked.

“Not now. Eat.”

The soup was good and warm and every spoonful made her feel a little better. Sansa ate fast, feeling the Hound’s heavy stare on her as the man continued sipping on his wineskin, watching her as if she was some sort of oddity he had stumbled on and wasn’t sure what to make of. 

The bowl was soon empty and Sansa forced herself to look at her benefactor strait in the face, as he seemed to like her to do. “Thank you, my lord. That was very generous of you.”   
  
“What a good and well behaved little bird you are. If I didn’t know any better, I’d take you for a bloody highborn maiden. I’ll have to congratulate your parents when I’ll see them later…”

Sansa gasped.  _Why would he meet my parents?_

“You think I’d let you go back to your house on foot _by yourself_ with that dress of yours looking more like a rag than anything else and only with that dirty cloak to cover yourself? Chances are, you’d be attacked all over again. I’ll take you to your house. Are you feeling better now?”

Sansa nodded.

“Come on then,” he rasped, standing up and grabbing her arm to help her rise to her feet.

After the Hound had given a few coins to the serving wench, they walked out of the tavern and went to the stable. A boy of about Sansa’s age brought out a huge black stallion that looked fiercer than any other she had ever seen before. 

The Hound eyes gleamed with amusement as he noticed how she moved back from the beast in apprehension. “Never saw a war horse before, little bird? His name is Stranger. You’re right to keep your distances: he can be as deadly as his namesake when he feels like it.”  
  
“ _Stranger_? That’s blasphemous!” Sansa cried without thinking.

The Hound made a sound that might have been a laugh and circled her waist with his missives hands, lifting her from the ground and settling her on the back of the horse. He then swung himself behind her and Stranger started to move.

 As he was holding the reins before her, the Hound’s arms were leaning slightly against Sansa’s sides and her back was touching his torso which made the girl blush as she remembered how she had quite enjoyed the feeling of his strong arms and chest against her as he had carried her sooner that evening.

“You live far from here, girl?” he demanded, his breath warm on the side of her face as he spoke.

“I’m not certain, my lord, I was lost when you found me. My house is on the Street of Steel.”

 The Hound snorted at that. “Fucking obvious, I’d say.” Then he paused just an instant and added: “You know that I’m no lord, do you?”

“Yes… Members of the King’s guards are not lords - I know that of course - but you-”

He didn’t let her finish. “So you know who I am after all. Not too hard to figure, I’d reckon.”

The rest of their way was filled with silence. Sansa was too nervous to try to entertain any sort of conversation. How would her parents react when they saw their daughter being escorted back to their home by the infamous Hound? Her anxiety was killing her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Catelyn**

_Where is she?_  Catelyn was worried to death over her daughter. She had sent Sansa to fetch some vegetables at the market earlier in the day but what should have taken her only a few moments had lasted hours by now! And she was not back yet! This city was a dangerous place. She had warned Ned about it and told him that moving here was a terrible idea, yet when did men ever listen? Ned had been convinced that he would be able to make a better living in the capital and so, the whole family had had to migrate to the other side of the Seven Kingdoms. They were paying very cruelly for that mistake now.  _Oh! Sansa! What happened to you?_

Catelyn had sent Bran, her younger son, searching for her missing daughter in the streets of their neighbourhood while Rob, her oldest child, was looking for her farther into the city. There were a few areas no so far from where they lived that were not recommendable for any respectable woman or girl of any class and Catelyn was afraid that Sansa might have gotten lost in the mazes that surrounded the market and accidentally reached these streets. She should never have sent her do the grocery by herself. Catelyn felt terribly guilty for it.   
  
“I can go search for her too, Mother,” she heard Arya plead by her side. Her youngest daughter was nothing like Sansa and had always insisted in doing everything the boys did.   
  
“No, you stay here. I’m not going to send you outside after what might have happened to your sister.” One lost daughter was enough.

Obviously frustrated by her answer, Arya went straight through the forge and headed for her room on the second floor of the shop. Catelyn didn’t feel guilty for her daughter’s outburst; she knew sending her out would have been an even bigger mistake than what she had done earlier with Sansa. 

Ned was still in the workshop; she could hear the banging of his hammer on steel, each blow resounding in her eardrum and painfully increasing her growing headache. With the war at its peak, her husband didn’t lack of any work. Swords were in cruel need and he had to produce new weapons night and day. The situation in King’s Landing had been so harsh of late and the price of the food had increased so drastically that there was no way he could refuse any job he was offered. Going out to look for Sansa could have meant no food for the rest of the family for a few days and so he had to keep on working even though the situation was worrying him to no end.  
  
Lassitude was slowly taking over Catelyn and her whole body ached for her to rest but she simply couldn’t. No matter how tired she was, there was no way she’d have slept anyhow. Going outside their house, she sat on the bench they had installed just in front and gazed at the moon in a silent prayer to the gods for her sweet daughter’s well-being.

Catelyn was still staring at the starlit sky when she suddenly heard the sound of an approaching horse. She turned her head in surprise, mounts not being very common in this neighbourhood after business hours. Where they came from, in the North, even commoners had horses, donkeys or mules. Their beasts were either old or of a lesser quality but they nevertheless faithfully did their work. In King’s Landing, smallfolk didn’t have these kinds of luxuries. Regular houses had no stables since space was cruelly lacking but people rarely had to walk very far so that had always seemed fair to Catelyn. 

  
The shape of a huge mounted horse was slowly beginning to draw itself from afar and Catelyn’s eyes were fixed on its approaching form. _Sansa?_  Catelyn could not help herself from hoping that her missing daughter was being brought back home by some unlikely hero, coming straight out of one of the stories she had so often told Sansa throughout the years of her childhood.  _We smallfolk are only in this world to suffer. Why should I hope for anything?_  
  
She now could clearly distinguish the shape of the mounted man coming toward her. He was riding an enormous beast, which one moved in such an agile way that Catelyn had no doubt it was a trained animal belonging to a nobleman. The moon was behind the unlikely rider as he finally halted his horse and was gleaming so brightly that she was unable to make out his features.  
  
“Mother!” she heard a soft voice cry out.

In an incontrollable instinct, Catelyn instantly stood up. As she did, she saw the rider jump off from the horse’s back, grab the small form of a girl who she could now see had been ridding in front of him and bring it down easily to the ground. The girl ran in her direction and Catelyn strode toward her, her heart beating faster with every step she took. Tears went rolling down her cheeks when Sansa finally jumped in her arms, sobbing and shacking while Catelyn held her tightly against her breasts.

“Sansa! It’s you! What happened? Where have you been? We’ve been so worried over you!”

She was caressing her daughter’s back when she noticed that Sansa was wrapped in a white wool cloak obviously too large and long for her. Raising her head, she gazed in the stranger’s direction. He was slowly approaching them, his face still indistinguishable in the darkness of the night, yet his impressive height would have been hard to miss. He was taller than any men she had ever met before.

“The girl has been attacked by some bastard. She’s been lucky though: I was near and heard her screams. And then, I killed him,” he rasped, speaking the harsh words in the same tone most men used while commenting the weather.

_This man has killed someone for my daughter?_ While Catelyn knew she should be thankful that her safety had been guarded, the thought that someone that had spent time with her was capable of such violence made her feel uneasy. _Sansa has been riding with a bloodthirsty murderer!_  She could still hear the soft sobs of her daughter and feel her warm tears on her shoulder when she finally got a good look at the tall man, a gasp escaping her mouth as she recognised him.

There was no mistaking who he was. Everybody knew him in Westeros as King Joffrey’s swornshield, his dog. Sandor Clegane was said to be a cruel man that killed and raped everywhere he went. Violence ran in his family: his brother, the mountain that rides, was no better than him from what she had heard. They both hated each others to no end but they were made of the same steel and neither was better than the other. Catelyn was suddenly frightened and she tightened the circle of her arms around Sansa in a protective instinct. She had to find a way to be respectful while getting rid of this most unwelcomed visitor. 

“I thank you, ser, for what you did for my daughter,” she said a bit more dryly than she had meant. 

Just then, she heard footsteps coming from inside the forge and heading toward the door and jerked her head to see Ned coming out to join her. His stare darted directly to the Hound and she could read the shock in his eyes even though he managed to keep a straight face.

He was obviously nervous as he started to talk a few seconds later, although he did a good job at hiding it. “I heard from inside that you were to thank for our daughter’s life. We are indebted to you, ser, of a debt we won’t ever be able to repay you. Yet, you can be assured that you’ll have our eternal gratitude for what you did for us.”

The Hound snorted with contempt at Ned’s words. “And what will I do with that  _eternal gratitude_  of yours? It’s not worth shit to me. You’re lucky though, I don’t want anything from you.”

Catelyn was horrified at his unnecessary rudeness.  _What a dreadful man!_

“The little bird told me that you were new in this city. Might be a good idea for you not to send your maiden daughter out in these dirty streets if you want her to stay as such.”

_The Little bird? Why would he give Sansa such a strange nickname?_

Ned looked in Sansa’s direction, his brow creased with worry. “Is she all right though?”  
  
“I’m fine, Father,” Sansa replied while leaving Catelyn’s arms and walking slowly towards the Hound. She seemed so small and fragile next to that massif and monstrous man and the sight of her daughter by his side was enough to make her shudder. “Thank you for what you did for me today, my lord. I will be more careful from now on, I promise.”

A smirk appeared on the man’s face as he glanced down at Sansa, his cruel eyes gleaming with an interested spark. Catelyn didn’t like one bit the way he was looking at her daughter.

“You’ve better be. I’d hate to have saved you for nothing. Now go clean yourself up and get some rest.” Sansa nodded politely before obediently going inside the house.

Relief flooded over Catelyn as the Hound turned his back to her and headed at last to his war stallion but just as he was about to get on its back, he laid his gaze on her and Ned and told them: “I’ll be back in a few days to see how the girl’s doing. Take good care of her.” After that, he jumped on his saddle and quickly disappeared into the darkness from where he had come minutes earlier.

A stab of fear went bolted Catelyn’s heart as she heard his last words echo in her mind, over and over again, all the while dreadfully contemplating the prospect that the Hound was not yet done with her sweet and innocent young daughter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sansa**

Her room was a mess, as always. It was no easy task to keep it clean and tidy when all her efforts were ruined on a daily basis by her little sister, Arya, with whom she had to share it. Sansa sighed as she started to pick up the dirty clothes that were gathered in piles on the floor.

Arya was out playing with some boys in the neighbourhood, as she did almost every day. It was not fair! Sansa was not even allowed to go farther than the front of their house nowadays; her parents were too afraid that she'd be attacked once again. Why would it be safer for Arya? With the upcoming siege of King's Landing, no one was out of danger in these streets, not even grown men. Everyone knew that the city was due to be attacked; any day could be the one from now on, and it was impossible to predict who would win the battle. _What if Stannis wins?_ This thought was so frightening to Sansa that it was unbearable to even consider it and so she tried to chase it from her mind as best she could.

Sansa knew that her parents had another reason for which they forbade her to get too far from their sight though. Since she had been rescued by the Hound a week ago, he had come to see her on a couple of occasions, and they were afraid of what he might do to her if he ever found her by herself. They didn't like or trust the man at all. He was a fearsome man, on that Sansa agreed. She herself always felt nervous and shy when she was in his company but at the same time she was certain that he would never hurt her; he had saved her after all. If he had wanted to do her any harm, he could have done it in the tavern where they had went together a week ago, or he could have brought her to some dark corner, but he didn't do either of these things. Instead he had given her some water, fed her and had brought her back home to her family. He had been good to her. Sansa knew that her parents didn't share her assurance on the subject though.

With a sad smile on her lips, she went to the chest in which she had put away the white cloak that the Hound had wrapped around her minutes after he had dramatically stepped into her life. She opened it and lightly brushed the rough fabric with her fingers. Two days after the traumatic event that had led her to meet him had occurred, the Hound had returned to her house. Sansa had been cleaning the forge with her mother while her father was making some armour with the help of her brother Robb when he had suddenly busted in. As soon as the big man had appeared in the shop, everyone had stopped in the middle of their work to look in his direction with apprehension. Sansa's mother had not seemed pleased at all about this unexpected visit, and her father had had an uncomfortable expression on his face as he had greeted this unexpected and unwanted guest.

"Good afternoon, ser. I figure you are here to get some news of our daughter's well being. As you can see for yourself, she's doing fine." Her father had said these words with a stiff smile as he nervously approached the dark man.

The Hound had not even spared a glance at Sansa's father; instead his steely eyes had seemed to be attracted to her own as if by magnetism, and he had headed directly to her with no hesitation. "Is that so little bird? You're better now?"

Sansa had immediately stood up and forced herself to crane her neck so that she could meet his intense grey stare with her own insecure blue eyes. She had not wanted to displease him and since she had remembered that he wanted her to look at him for real, she had defied her shyness and done it.

"I'm doing well, my Lord. I have washed your cloak; I'll bring it down for you right away, if you want."

The Hound had laughed at that. "You can keep that old piece of cloth; I have a bunch of others anyway. I'm not here for the bloody cloak, you know. I have something for you." He had had a smirk on his scarred face, and had been seemingly satisfied with himself while taking something out of his leather pouch before putting it in her hands. She had gasped in amazement at seeing such a beautiful object; it was a nicely jewelled dagger, similar to the ones noblemen would wear, and he was offering it to her!

"It's a lady's dagger. I figured you'd need it to protect yourself from all those damn buggers that fill the streets since you obviously can't stay locked up in your house forever. And since that father of yours didn't have the wit to give you one, even though he's a bloody _smith_ , I thought I might as well do it for him. Someone has to keep you safe after all." With that, the Hound had sent a reproachful look in her father's direction.

Sansa had been gazing at the dagger with admiration and caressing it delicately with careful fingers when her father had politely but firmly tried to refuse the Hound's present on her behalf. "We can't accept this kind of gift, ser. It's very charitable of you, but this dagger is too expensive an object for the likes of us."

The Hound had turned a frowning head to her father while snapping,"I'm not giving it to you, it's for the girl. And she won't refuse a present from a member of the bloody Kingsguard, I hope. Now tell me I'm right, little bird." His voice had sounded as a low snarl, the sharpness of its tone increasing Sansa's nervousness as he had returned his gaze to her. The uncomfortable silence that had then taken over the forge had been more than intolerable for Sansa at that moment, and the severe but worried stare that her mother had been keeping on her the whole time had been way too heavy for her frail shoulders as she had answered the Hound's pressing question.

"Yes, my Lord. Thank you so much for your present." Even though she remembered while thinking back at that scene how she had felt guilty for disobeying her parents by accepting the dagger, Sansa had also been truly happy to be able to keep such a precious object.

"I'll teach you how to use it. I'm fucking certain that I'm the only one you know who's qualified enough to do it anyway. Would you like that, little bird?" As she was about to nod, her father had quickly formed a response for her. "I don't think it would be such a good idea, ser. Girls don't need to learn those kind of skills."

"And how will she protect herself then?" the Hound had snapped again, with that incomparable husky voice of his, looking down at her father with contempt. "And don't call me 'ser', I'm not one of those bastards, you hear me?"

"Fine, my Lord." Her father had looked more uncomfortable than she had ever seen him before. "You're very generous to offer your help like you do, but my daughter doesn't need to be trained in this kind of way. She'll stay safely at home with me at all times from now on. Now if you don't mind, my Lord, we need to resume our work. It's been an honour to see you again."

The Hound had stared at her father for a long and unpleasant moment before grunting something incomprehensible and stalking out of the forge with no other word said.

With the rough ways and harsh words that were apparently an integral part of his personality, Sansa had no difficulties in understanding why her parents disliked the Hound so ardently. What she did not understand though, now that she was thinking back on those past events, was why didn't she share their views about him? She knew for a fact that he could truly be horrible: she had witnessed it first hand on more than one occasion, but even as she remembered those appalling things he had said and done, she couldn't help but smile at the memory… He was so very different from anyone else she had ever met in her life!

Her room was almost clean enough for her taste by now, but Sansa's mind was still flowing elsewhere as she sighed again. She really did not know what to think about Sandor Clegane. He was nothing like the men she had always dreamed of and contemplated being wooed by. Gallant and handsome knights were what she had wished for, and the Hound was the _total_ opposite of that ideal! Even worse, he was quite a frightful sight with his gruesome scars and imposing presence, his deep hoarse voice adding to the explosive mix and resulting in an impressive and definitely out-of-the ordinary man. Was she really falling for him? _No, certainly not._ Curiosity, gratefulness and interest were the only things that she felt toward him, not love. _Why would I waste my time thinking about him anyway? He won't be coming back, not after what happened the last time that he came to see me…_

The man himself had obviously taken an interest in her. He had come back to see her on another occasion, three days after his first visit, but her father had chased him away almost immediately and she had not gotten any chance to really see or talk to him again. She had overheard their interaction though, from where she was absently sewing in her room on the second floor of the house.

"I'm here to see the girl, give her some training with that dagger." His hoarse voice had immediately pulled her out of her daydreams. Excitement had strangely taken Sansa over as she had heard his distinctive rasp, and she had run to the stairs, but her father's firm retort had made her freeze in her steps.

"My Lord, we are very flattered by the interest that you are showing toward our daughter, but we would prefer if you'd stop your visits from now on. You certainly know that it's not fitting for a young maiden to spend time with a grown man. With your status as a member of the Kingsguard you are bound to celibacy and thus have nothing to offer her. Even without that, an alliance between you two would never be fitting given our rank and yours." Hearing her father's cold warning had rendered Sansa dumbstruck, his inflexibility destabilising her greatly.

After a long and awkward moment of silence during which Sansa, still on the second floor, had started to tremble where she stood, the Hound had finally answered. "So even the smallfolk think they're better than me now." His rasp had been furious and loud. "I'll stop bothering you then. I'm going" The sound of heavy footsteps had trailed straight to the door and Sansa had run urgently to the window to get a last glimpse of the man who had once so bravely saved her. She had opened the shutters just in time to see him madly riding his black horse away from the workshop in a whirlwind of dust. Tears had filled her eyes as she had wondered why she cared so much.

Later on that same day, she had asked her parents about their motivation for chasing the Hound away as they had done earlier. Her mother had sat down with her and taken Sansa's hands in hers while addressing her in a soft maternal voice. "This man, Sandor Clegane, is a dangerous person. I know that he has saved you, Sansa, and for that I will be eternally grateful to him, but why do you think that he keeps coming here to see you as he does? His intentions are certainly not as pure as you would think. I know that you don't see the bad in people, Sansa, but believe me, please, he probably thinks that because you are a commoner, you'll wantonly jump in his arms sooner or later. When he realise that it won't happen, he'll end up raping you." Sansa had gasped at her mother's unfair accusation. She still didn't understand how she could think something like that. Even though he was a scary man and he could be very rude, the Hound had been nothing but good to her.

"Your maidenhead is precious, Sansa, and you have to protect it. You do know that we don't have a lot of gold for your dowry, but that your maiden gift and your beauty could help us ensure you a good marriage with some wealthy stock dealer or artisan's son. For that, you have to stay intact. Tell me; why would anyone believe that you are untouched if you keep being seen with a man such as the Hound?" Her mother had then kissed her and sent her back to her room, but Sansa had not been so reassured by her mother's supposedly comforting words.

It was getting dark by now and Sansa could hear her sister talking loudly with her brothers in the forge beneath her room. Sansa didn't feel like joining them though; she felt too sad to socialize. To her own surprise, the thought of never getting to see the Hound again made her heart ache with a queer pain. She was afraid of him and was nervous every time she saw him, but she also felt strangely proud to have attracted the attention of such a renowned warrior

Sansa was about to sit on her straw bed when she heard something hitting her window. As she was wondering what it might have been, she heard the same sound again, and then third time. _What is it?_ She went straight to her window, opened the shutters and looked down. _Oh! What is he doing here? He's throwing rocks at my window, like a young boy would do!_

"Little bird! It's me! I need to talk to you!" The Hound's voice was a low rasp and she could see his eyes shine in the darkness like the ones of a wild dog. Sansa didn't know what she should do. Her parents would be so mad at her if she disobeyed the clear orders they had given her not to go out of their home, but at the same time she really was happy to see the Hound again… She finally decided to discreetly try to sneak out of the house by the back door. _No one will notice my absence; it will only take a few minutes anyway._

"Just a moment, my Lord. I'm coming," she whispered to him softly. She was extremely nervous as she silently went down the stairs, and then headed to the back door on her tiptoes. Once out of the house, she walked as fast as she could to the Hound.

"What did you want of me, my Lord?" she asked him shyly. She was now facing him and noticed the strong smell of wine that was oozing from him. She raised her eyes to get a good look at his face and realised with dread that he was drunk. How could he seek her out in such a state? He laughed at her evident shock.

"Don't worry, girl, I'm not that different when I'm drunk." He was staring intensely at her as he always did and his eyes were gleaming in a way that she did not quite understand. Her heart was beating so fast and her stomach was in a painful knot… why did she have to suffer from these queer symptoms with him? She was intimidated by him, but she knew that there was something other than fright mixed in the confusing bundle of emotions that was taking her over, something she did not truly understand…

The Hound's sigh took her out of her reflections; he then said in a low voice, "I came to give you my farewells." He laughed bitterly before adding, "Wanted to see the pretty little bird one last time before I die."

Sansa gasped in horror. "Before you die? Why would that happen?"

"Tomorrow Stannis will attack this damn city. He's right at its door, right fucking now. If he wins the battle, we'll all die. You're aware of all that I hope, little bird?" He was looking so deeply into her eyes that she felt as if he wanted to step into her soul, making her feel invaded in a strange mix of fear and comfort … She could only nod silently in response, shaken as she was at that instant.

"Still got that dagger I gave you? It's a shame that stubborn father of yours didn't let me teach you how to use it, but at least you'll have something to protect yourself with if we lose and Stannis' men invade the city." With that, he sighed heavily before approaching Sansa and cupping her jaw in his right hand, his face transforming into a frightening mask of rage. "I won't let that happen though; I'll die fighting those damn bastards tomorrow, but I won't let it happen!" He paused, breathing heavily and calmed himself slightly while staring at her, but the intensity in his eyes was still as strong. "You'll be safe as long as I live, pretty bird. I can bloody promise you that." She felt his thumb settle itself gently on her bottom lip and start to caress it softly as he kept staring into her eyes with such a hunger that she might had been afraid he would eat her alive if she had still believed in the ogres of the stories and songs of her childhood. She could feel the warmth radiating from his body, as if her skin called for the urgent touch of his, yearned to close the gap that still separated them. Her own body was reacting to this unprecedented intimacy in ways that she had never experienced before, starting with that strange but intriguing heat that was building in her loins and now slowly spreading to every part of her being.

"You won't die, I know it." Her voice was low but confident. As she was saying these words, Sansa got abruptly pulled out of her trance-like state by the sound of her mother's cries.

"Sansa! What are you doing?" Her mother looked furious but mostly alarmingly worried. Sansa reluctantly moved away from the Hound and felt tears fill her eyes as a less pleasant kind of stress started to eat away at her core. Her mother was running toward the Hound in fury and went to stand between them in a protective move.

"You! You again!" Sansa's mother stopped an instant to catch her breath. "Stay away from my daughter! You may be the king's sworn shield, but as her mother, I'm the one who decides and approves of Sansa's visitations. She has nothing to gain out of an association with you!" She was screaming these words at the top of her lungs.

"Calm yourself down, you damn woman! I was not raping her, was I? Can't a man say his farewells before a possibly deadly battle? I might fucking die on the morrow. You'd like that, I'd wager." He paused to snort at that as his mouth twitched madly. "You ought to be grateful I'll risk my damn life to protect your arse while you'll be peacefully sleeping in your bloody house. Instead you're treating me as if I was a rabid dog."

"Most people think of you as one." Her mother's words stabbed Sansa directly in the heart. She was horrified by their argument and had to use all the strength that she had left in her tired spirit not to start sobbing at that very instant.

The Hound slowly moved even closer to her mother in an intimidating manner. "Maybe you're right and I'm one after all… but what does that makes the likes of you? Rats? Toads? Gnats?" The Hounds snarled these words, his eyes once again filled with rage, making him look the very image of the rabid dog that he had just claimed being. "It's a fucking wonder vermin like you could have a little bird such as her living under your roof." With that, he turned away from her and stalked away into the night.

After the Hound disappeared from her sight, Sansa could not control her sobbing any longer and started to cry loudly. She ran away from her mother, but as she got to the door of her house, she saw that her whole family was now in its entrance staring at her.

Her father looked at her and said, "Don't cry for him darling, he's not worth it," but Sansa didn't listen to him and pushed them all aside, before hurrying to her room.

Later, as she was crying on her bed, Sansa overheard her parents talking to each other downstairs.

"I still think she's too young, but we really have no other choice right now. We need to find her a good husband and marry her. The sooner, the better. As much as it pains me, it's the only way that I can think of to get this man to leave her be." Sansa gasped in horror as she heard her father say these words.

"You're right, Ned. We have to marry Sansa, or else, something bad is going to happen to her, I can feel it. It's the only way that we have left to protect her from the Hound."

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Sandor**

Sandor was lying on his bed with his hands under his head, staring at the ceiling of his rustic chamber. His body was still aching from the multiple wounds he had received during the battle of the Blackwater, but he was not really bothered by any of them; he was well used to these kinds of injuries. They even had a calming effect on his tortured mind.

The siege had lasted for a lesser time than he would have ever dared to hope for, but that didn't change the fact that it had been a living nightmare for Sandor and the thousands of men that had paid with their lives for its positive ending. Joffrey had won, but at what cost? The whole city was a mess of ashes and half burned down houses! _Damn Imp and his fucking wildfire!_ The king and his bloody Hand really didn't give a shit about the manner of their victory: only the end counted for those fuckers. They might have had a change of heart if they had suffered in the blazes with the soldiers as Sandor had. Hearing the screams of the burning men and horses that were slowly perishing in the cruelest fashion possible at Sandor's side had chilled him to the bone in an absurd contradiction to the fires that were consuming all of his surroundings with no discrimination. As usual, the players of this fucking game of thrones he hated so much had had no clue about the reality that they were inflicting on their pawns. They had probably been gazing at the confrontation from afar as if it had been some eagerly awaited entertainment that had finally brightened up their pointless existences. Hundreds of guards had protected the king and his small council from the action. Those cowards had never even had a glance at what reality was truly like, and that hellish night had not differed from any other before. Ten year old girls were bolder than those pieces of shit that ruled the seven kingdoms.

The fire had been everywhere and heat so omnipresent that Sandor had kept believing through the night that he'd caught alight and that his skin was melting and calcifying all over again… but he didn't burn this time. He even fought bravely. At moments, he really had thought that had had reached his breaking point and had been on the verge of leaving his men and fleeing from the damn flames and this buggering city! On his way he could have even sought out the Imp and thrust his sword through that stunted body from his ugly arse up to his deformed mouth! However much this prospect had appealed to Sandor in his agony, he had known that if he done these things and quit the fight, he would have been a fucking craven, and most important of all was the promise that he had made to the little bird. Sandor had sworn to her that he would die protecting the city from Stannis' men so that she would never need to use that dagger he had given her. So all night, he had kept on fighting and killed countless nameless men that probably didn't deserve to die, but that was the way of war and Sandor didn't pity any of these bastards.

He had led the last sortie that had completely destroyed Stannis' remaining forces and had killed a large number of knights, sellswords and soldiers himself. Exhaustion had taken over Sandor's body afterward as he had stepped into the Red Keep's courtyard with the wrecks that were left of his men. He could not have helped being extremely annoyed by the acclamations with which they had all been welcomed by the crowd as they had entered the place. They had only done their damn work as any real man would have, they were no heroes. He pissed on their cheers. Sandor had never longed for the approbation of anyone; that the bastards were grateful or resentful, it could not have mattered less to him. His only interest was that he would get some strong wine at the end of his shift.

Five days had passed since the battle and Sandor had not done much since then apart from drinking and sleeping while he was waiting for his wounds to heal properly. None of them were really severe though and he already felt almost completely recovered… apart from one crucial detail that was killing him. _Stupid dog! Go find yourself a whore, a cunt is a cunt._ This once indisputable fact of life had been completely and irrevocably destroyed of late and his mind kept unwillingly going back to the damn girl. He could not stand the way the memory of her sweet and shy smile made his core burn like the wildfire he despised so much as he remembered how her bloody parents had chased him off as if he was some dirty and unworthy rat. They were fucking commoners, with rags as clothes and were living in a dirt floor house, but they were acting as if they were worth more than him: the king's own sworn shield, a bloody member of the Kingsguard!

That was part of his problem though. Those damn vows that he had not even taken forbade him from having a wife and those so-proud and respectable parents that the girl had were rightfully afraid that he would take the little bird's maidenhead as he had contemplated doing and still did. _What's all this fuss about maidenhood anyway?_ Sandor himself didn't care about marriage and what was supposedly proper or not. He would have been content with renting a nice manse for the girl not far from the Red Keep and taking her as his mistress, but would she want that? She seemed attached to her parents and those buggers would probably give him trouble if he did that. The only solution that he could envision was to kidnap the girl from her house during the night and desert the Kingsguard; he had had enough of this piece of shit that called himself a king anyway. The little bird and he could go start a new life in one of the free cities. Sandor would get them a nice house, find himself some work and fuck her every day, over and over again until the end of time

Although, what if the little bird didn't want to be kidnapped? He knew he couldn't take her with him by force - he would have to convince her to flee with him - but would he be able to do that? She seemed to appreciate him well enough. He had noticed the way she had smiled at him and even though they had only met a few short times, he had felt as if a connection had been building between them, getting stronger after each encounter.

The girl was obviously intimidated by him but most people were; he could not blame her for that as he was well aware that he looked more demon than human. What had struck him was the genuine kindness that he had read in her eyes as she had shyly looked at his ugly face on many occasions without even really flinching. Gentleness was only a part of his amazement though; to his own disbelief Sandor had also seen lust, clear as day, shining in those striking blue eyes of hers as the pretty bird had softened as he touched her silky and so perfect face. Why did that buggering hysterical woman that was her mother have to interfere with them just then? The damn bitch had arrived just as he was starting to believe that the little bird would not mind being kissed by him; even better, he was now completely convinced that it was actually all that she had wanted right then. The way that she had let him caress her delicious plump lips, gazing at him all the while with a passion that he had never seen in any woman's eyes in all of his miserable life, had moved him in ways that he hadn't even believed were possible. She was the most beautiful creature that this disgusting world had ever created and she was willing to give herself to a monster such as him. His breeches had been extremely and uncomfortably tight at that blessed and hopeful instant. Sandor was now convinced that he could have taken her willingly in the bushes near her house at that moment if not for her damned mother. Her little cunt would surely have been warm and wet for him…

 _Damn you, dog!_ What was the point of letting his mind wander back to these memories apart from making himself grow hard once again? Sandor sighed deeply as he unlaced his breeches with resignation and released his manhood, taking it in his right hand. With a firm grip, he stroked it as he tried to picture how the little bird would have moaned in pleasure as he touched her perfect and creamy young body. Sandor had already seen the upper part of it and he was certain that the rest was no less sublime. He would have torn away her maidenhead in one deep thrust and the girl would have cried out beautifully in a mix of pain and pleasure. What was a maidenhead good for anyway? She didn't need one and he would have settled that for her. _Fuck! I need this girl, I'll kidnap her, I'll do it…Sansa…you'll be mine soon…_ he half -whispered, half-grunted while releasing his seed in a passionate fury.

Just as he was finishing cleaning himself up, Sandor heard a knock on the door. He opened it and saw one of the king's messengers.

"Sandor Clegane, the king awaits you in the throne room for the ceremony."

Ah, the damn ceremony, Sandor had almost forgotten about it. The king would be giving honours to a bunch of lords and knights. Some fools would be knighted; the regular bullshit that was the making of these boring events. Sandor really didn't give a shit about the empty honours that he might receive; a medal was just as useless as nipples on a breastplate, but he knew he had to go in order to please the bloody king. He was still wearing his regular plain clothes; dark brown breeches, a black over-used tunic that was slowly turning to grey and a worn-out studded leather jerkin, but he decided that he would rather not change. What other nicer garments did he own anyway? And did he care? He nevertheless settled on putting on his white cloak just to give himself some appearance of credibility and headed to the throne room at a slow and unenthusiastic pace that reflected his total lack of excitement over the prospect of having to spend the next hours watching noblemen congratulate one another. _What a fucking waste of time! I would rather spend the day locked in the bloody black cells…_

When he stepped into the throne room, the place was filled with what seemed to Sandor as a grouping of all the most useless human beings that he had even seen. Fat noblemen and women were showing off their more expensive garments with shameless pride, each looking more ridiculous than the other. Sandor instinctively scowled at them as he walked through the press, heading for a place not far from his pathetic _brothers_ of the Kingsguard. _A bunch of gnats, I'd say!_

The ceremony was painfully long and Sandor kept yawning through the whole pointless process. The speeches of thanks became faraway and indistinct sounds to his inattentive ears as Sandor's mind continued feeding on his constant obsession. He could not stop thinking of her; the girl, the damn fucking girl! Sansa… she was unknowingly accompanying him everywhere he went. Sandor would end up crazy if he could not have her... and there was only one cure for this inevitable sickness. He had no other option, he decided in an effort to convince himself that he was right: tomorrow, he would go to the little bird's house and climb its wall. He would get in by the window and take her with him, willing or not… but she would be willing, he knew it. She had to be.

As he was mentally building his plan, the king suddenly called for him.

"Sandor Clegane. You may come before me." It took a few seconds for Sandor to react, but he obeyed and walked to his king before bending on his knee head bowed respectfully.

"Sandor Clegane, you have led the sortie that eradicated the rebellion of my traitor uncle, Stannis Baratheon. You deserve the greatest honours for the good that you did to the realm..." _If this little piece of shit thinks I care for all that crap he's feeding me with…_

"…and thus you may ask of me any boon that is within my power to grant you." Sandor's eyes widened and his mind started racing as he realised exactly what the king was offering him. _Anything, I can ask anything I want…_ A moon turn ago, he would not have even raised an eyebrow at this offer; there was nothing he dreamed of or wanted back then. He might have asked for a pouch of gold dragons, but since he used to have no objectives or long term goals, that would have been about it. Maybe Joffrey knew it and was being this generous to him out of a foolish belief that he wouldn't ask for anything valuable. However, a lot of things had changed in Sandor's existence and the opportunity that the king was offering him was too good to be true.

Sandor raised his head and addressed his king. "Your Grace, as a matter of fact, I do have some favours I would ask of you. If you would release me from my duty as a member of the Kingsguard and as your sworn shield, and grant me some land, I'd be forever grateful to you." Murmurs of agitation rippled through the crowd as his unexpected request was heard. The boy-king himself seemed surprised and even slightly shaken, but he regained his composure quickly and gazed at Sandor with a questioning look in his eyes, his usual smirk forming on his lips.

"So my dog wants to be freed from his master. Fine. You are no longer in my service. You'll always be welcome to return of course, if ever you get tired of your new peaceful life as a land owner. And I'll not only give you lands, I'll make you a lord! Would you like that dog? I'll call you Lord Dog from now on!" With that, the boy laughed loudly. Sandor could hear the noblemen whispering in shock to one another. It certainly did not please them, a dog becoming a lord, but he really didn't give a shit about what they liked or not. All Sandor wanted was to have the little bird for himself; her parents would be fools to refuse a lord for their daughter. He would not need to steal her after all.

"I'll give you a castle in the Stormlands where many lords have lost their titles and rights due to their treasons." The tumult that was taking over the throne room forced the king to shout in order to silence the offended noblemen.

"The king does as he pleases! It's not for you to contest my decisions!" As soon as the angry screams of the boy where heard, a hush immediately fell upon the hall.

"May I ask you what motivates your sudden desire for this drastic change of life, dog?"

There was no point in lying to the king so Sandor told him his reason. "I'd like to take a wife." He heard some disgusted laugher from the crowd.

The king seemed to share their mirth. "Is that so? And who's the lucky young lady you intend on marrying?" The boy's smirk had evolved into a grin.

"Some smith's daughter." The crowd had stopped laughing; people were gasping in shock all around the throne room and whispers had given way to a growing din of disapproving shouts. The king had to raise his voice once again to end the commotion.

"Silence! Silence!" This time, it took a few seconds for the room to become quiet once more. Joffrey seemed displeased, but it was hard for Sandor to know if it was with the press' reaction or his own choice to marry a commoner.

"My dear dog… or should I say, Lord Dog? You don't have to marry so low. Even though you're disfigured and unpleasant to look at, you should certainly be able to find some lesser lord or knight who would grant you one of his daughters. Now that you are a lord, it should be even easier." The king had amusement written all over his face while saying these words and Sandor could hear some noblemen laughing at the boy's remark.

"I don't care for those lord's daughters. I want the girl I spoke of." A palpable uneasiness took over the audience room as everyone present glanced in the king's direction. Joffrey himself had fallen into a peculiar silence that lasted for a few awkward seconds before he started sniggering, at first lowly, but then louder and louder. The herd was quick to follow the boy's lead and soon roars of laughter were reverberating all over the hall. Sandor could not have cared less for the way that he was being judged and mocked by the crowd. _A bunch of stupid gnats._

"There's no use in trying to reason with a dog, it seems! You're free to do as you will. I wish you a pleasant marital life with that _barefoot girl_ of yours." With that, the boy noisily laughed again. "You may go now, _Lord Dog_."

Sandor rose and bowed to his king, turned around and headed directly to the exit of the throne room. The noblemen and women were staring at him with a disgusted curiosity but they all made way for him with obvious apprehension as he stalked though them. He didn't spare a look at any of those idiots. These buggers and all the bullshit related to the court life that he despised so much were all behind him now.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Sandor**

The streets of Flea Bottom were full of dirty smallfolk. Some were heading to the market to buy some supplies for their supper, others were pathetically imploring anyone that seemed richer than them to spare a copper or two, but most were just wandering around the lanes to flee from the heat of their badly-ventilated houses. Whatever their means were, it didn't really matter to Sandor: to him they were just a bunch of obstacles preventing him from riding Stranger as fast as he felt he should have. _Calm yourself down, dog! The girl won't disappear if you get there half an hour later._ He was almost there anyway; the Street of Steel was just around the corner.

If anybody had told Sandor a moon turn ago that he would become a Lord and be willing to beg some man for his daughter's hand, he would have laughed in the bugger's face and probably beaten him up if he'd have been sufficiently drunk. He snorted to himself at the realisation of all the drastic changes that had taken place in his life of late. He could not help but be slightly irritated by this weakness over a woman that he had; it was so out of character for him! How could a creature as defenseless as the little bird have so much power over a rabid beast like him? He could not understand, but there was no use fighting against it. At least the girl wasn't the kind to use her charms as a weapon of domination and control as he had often witnessed vicious wenches do to manipulate some stupid green boys. Those women had been whores though, no other female would ever act in such a way… apart from Queen Cersei and most of the ladies at court… Seven hells! Were all women indeed like that? _No, the girl is nothing like those bitches, she's different, I know it._ She was such a pure and innocent little thing; were these traits common for all northern girls or were they, as he believed, specific to the little bird? Whatever the answer to that question, what truly mattered was that Sandor was undeniably attracted by her delightful naivety and her sweet shyness.

The little bird would soon be his. Her parents were fools but no commoners would ever have the nerve to refuse to wed their daughter to a _fucking_ lord. The king had been extremely generous with him and had granted him a castle called Woodbridge which almost as big as Casterly Rock and surrounded by acres of fertile land. That should end any resistance to him that those proud people might have left.

The little bird's house was finally in sight and Sandor could see from where he was at the end of the street that her mother was sweeping dirt from the front of the forge's entrance. He sighed irritably to himself at the prospect of having to face that hysterical woman once again. Sandor had wished for her to be elsewhere, he didn't care where – the seven hells would have been as good as any other place for that matter - but not there! _Great…_ Her husband seemed thankfully to have a calmer temper and to be a man with whom Sandor could hope to have a rational discussion; it shouldn't be too hard to convince him to give his daughter away to a bloody lord. The betrothing of a child was the father's business and decision anyway, so as far as Sandor was concerned, the bitch could keep on cleaning the dirty paving while the men talked inside the forge.

As soon as he arrived in front the house, Sandor got off of Stranger's back and walked toward it with the reins in his hand. The woman jumped when she saw him and her mouth opened as if she was about to scream. She didn't do it though; she quickly regained her composure when she noticed that they were closely watched by what seemed to be the neighbourhood in its entirety. Some people were discreetly leering at them from their windows, others were glancing sporadically in their direction from the front of their houses. All those onlookers didn't seem to please the woman at all; she was now slowly turning red and looked so angered that it almost amused Sandor, but he knew better than to mock her right then. He settled on smirking at her while he was tying Stranger's reins to a hook on the house's wall.

"What are you doing here? If you came to see Sansa, she's not even home at the moment," she whispered at him through gritted teeth.

"I didn't come to see the girl today. I want to talk to your husband." Sandor tried to get inside the forge, but the damn woman blocked him on his way.

"Oh, and why would you want that?" she arrogantly asked him.

"It's none of your bloody business, woman. Now, let me in and go back to your broom." He nodded in the direction of where the object was leaning against a wall.

The bitch seemed insulted and was about to retort when her husband arrived behind her.

"What's happening, Cat?" The man stopped short when he saw Sandor and then continued. "Good evening my lord. May I ask what brings you here? Our daughter is not home tonight, and even if she were, you know that you're not welcome to visit her." His tone was polite but cold.

"Things have changed since the Battle of the Blackwater, you know. I'd like to talk to you about some of these changes that concern you and your family. Now will you let me in, or do you want the entire neighbourhood as an audience to our little chat?" Sandor could feel all the neighbours' gazes on them while saying these words.

The smith took a quick look around them to verify Sandor's words before sighing deeply when he saw their truth. "Get in, my lord," he said with a resigned expression on his tired face.

The couple of commoners led their unwanted guest to a small kitchen adjacent to the forge before seating themselves next to one another in front of a table that was in the middle of the room. Sandor pulled up a chair opposite to them, feeling the woman stare at him with an open hostility while doing so. _Wasn't she supposed to sweep the pavement? Fuck, what a nosy woman! Are all northern men this submissive to their wives and let them do whatever the fuck they want?_

The smith reached for his wife's hand and took it in his as if that gesture would allow them to share strength. "I'm listening, my lord, what do you want from us?"

Sandor didn't spare a glance at the woman and addressed himself to the man only. "I'll get straight to the point. I fought so damn _bravely_ at the battle that the king has freed me from the Kingsguard and made me a lord - a real one, not just by title. I have lands and a castle in the Stormlands and now I want your daughter too. I'll be good to her; don't worry yourself about that…"

Both parents had suddenly tensed while Sandor had informed them of his new situation and the smith then interrupted him. "My lord, it could have been worth considering it, but I'm afraid it's too late for that. Sansa is already betrothed."

"What are you talking about?"

"She's due to marry in a fortnight."

 _Is that fucking smith kidding me?_ Sandor took a few seconds to look at him. _No, that fucker is telling me the damn truth…_ He felt rage growing inside him at this cruel realisation and growled back, "Oh, you did that… Who's the lucky bastard you're giving her to? Is he worth a _lord_?" He paused and took a deep breath in an effort to regain some of his composure. "It's not too late. She's not married yet, you told me yourself."

The man sitting in front of him seemed uneasy but not enough for Sandor's taste as the fucking smith was resisting him with a bit too much dignity. "We cannot renege on the engagement we have agreed to; we even paid the dowry this week…"

"The dowry?" Sandor was infuriated at the idea. "Who's the fucking idiot that needs to be paid to marry your daughter? He should be the one putting gold on the table to get your girl! I'll pay to have her, if that's what you want…"

The little bird's mother got up at once with eyes wide with fury and she started yelling at Sandor. "She's not for sale! She's not one of your whores!"

"Catelyn, please!" Her husband had to pull her back onto her chair.

Sandor turned his head to the damn woman and tried to explain himself to her. "I'm not offering you gold to make her my whore; I'm doing it to make her my wife! Can't you see the difference? She'd be a _lady_ , I'm sure she'd love it." He paused and returned his gaze to her husband. "What kind of engagement have you taken? You can't have signed anything; you commoners surely don't read or write."

"No, we don't, my lord, but we gave our word about it, and once it's given, there's no taking it back." That bloody smith was stupidly and annoyingly tenacious!

"Words are wind!" Sandor impatiently grunted at him.

"Not to us. We smallfolk may not have much gold, but we have our honour." The man's tone was firm with finality.

Sandor felt as if he was about to explode. "Who's her betrothed then? Tell me!"

"No, my lord, I won't."

The smith seemed ready to stand his ground, so Sandor sighed heavily and stared at the man with fury for a long moment before finally rasping, "Fine. I'm going..." _but I'll be back for the girl, you fucking gnats!_ He then quickly went out the door.

Sandor's mood was darker than ever as he left the Street of Steel astride his black stallion. _Those damn commoners! I should kill them for what they've done!_ He knew he could never do it though; he wanted the little bird to love him, not to hate him. Sandor was so enraged that the very idea that the girl could soon be in another man's arms made him crazy. He could not let that happen. She was his and her fucking parents were bigger fools than he had thought for not seeing it. Sandor had offered them the moon and they had refused it! It would be their fault if he had to steal their daughter away from them; they really would be the only ones to blame. It was not as if her parents could complain afterward that Sandor hadn't tried to get the little bird in a proper fashion. He had almost begged them for her hand, but they had stubbornly and illogically refused him. _Those buggers will certainly regret their choice when they wake up one morning with one less daughter._ Sandor would need to kidnap the little bird after all; what other choice did he have left? _I need a drink and badly!_ He could plan their escape more calmly with some wine in his belly, so he decided to head for his usual tavern.

The place was thankfully not very far and the streets were less crowded by then, so it took Sandor only a few moments to get there. The witless stable boy seemed as nervous as always when he saw Sandor approaching him, but he took Stranger's reins and brought the horse to the stables all the same. Sandor immediately entered the tavern and found the place pretty busy tonight so he went for an isolated table; he didn't care to talk to anyone right then.

"Bring me a skin of wine. No, two," he yelled at the group of serving wenches that were noisily talking to one another behind the counter. One of them nodded at him and went straight to the kitchen. As Sandor was about to seat himself, he heard a man calling his name and laughing stupidly.

The bugger was obviously drunk. "Hey! Sandor Clegane! Or should I call you Lord Clegane, now that you've been elevated by our good king?"

"What do you want from me, you useless fucker?" Sandor quickly turned his head to see the man. He was a regular-looking bastard, a sellsword probably, and was seated at a table not too far from his own with four other men.

The bugger got up and approached Sandor. "Hey, calm yourself! I only want to congratulate you on your new position…and on your engagement, we all heard the news! She must be something, that commoner girl of yours, to make _the Hound_ leave his post as the king's sworn shield and take on the married life…" The poor fool didn't even get a chance to finish his sentence before he received Sandor's fist directly on the jaw. The man was taken by surprise and landed on his back. The loud noise that his body made when hitting the floor got the attention of the tavern's customers and they all stopped in the middle of their conversations to stare in the direction of the fight.

Sandor picked the sellsword up by the collar and brought his bloodied face to his own before snarling at him, "You! Don't talk about her!" He then pushed him away and the man fell to the floor again.

 _Seven hells! Does the entire city know about it?_ The humiliation was getting too strong for him to bear. Not only had some fucking commoners refused to grant him their daughter, but now it seemed as if all of King's Landing would soon hear about it! What would the king and all the bloody noblemen of his court think when they heard the tale of his inability to convince some worthless smallfolk to accept him as their son-in-law? Before long, he would become the laughingstock of all of the Seven Kingdoms. That realisation only convinced him further of the urgency to kidnap the little bird and to flee this damn continent with her, and tonight would be as good as any other to do so.

Just as he was finally seating himself, Sandor got startled by a woman's voice. "Here's your wine, Lord Clegane." He looked up to see a serving wench depositing the two wine skins he'd ordered earlier in front of him. Then he recognised her: it was the same woman who had been working the day that Sandor had rescued the little bird from the dirty bastard who had tried to rape her. The wench had known the girl; in fact, she was even one of her neighbours… Sandor felt as if a breath of fresh air had suddenly entered his soul as an idea abruptly formed in his head.

"You remember the girl I saved and brought here the other day, do you?"

"Oh yes, my lord. She's Ned's daughter. She's about to marry, you know."

"I heard about it. In fact, I'd like to… congratulate the future groom. Do you know where he lives, by any chance?"

"Of course. He's a smith's son too. The father's name is Paul and the family lives on the other end of the Street of Steel. Their house has a big wooden door that has been painted in blue. You'll see, it's pretty easy to find."

A cruel grin unconsciously formed on Sandor's face as he thanked the wench. "That should do it, woman. Here, for your help." He tossed a few coins at her, took his skins of wine and went straight to the exit in a mood that was much improved in comparison to the rage that had consumed him when he had entered the tavern just minutes before.

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Sansa**

It was time for supper when they arrived home. The table was already set and the appetizing smell of their mother's soup was delightfully filling the kitchen and the forge. Sansa, along with her brother Robb as her chaperone, had spent the afternoon with her betrothed at his family's house. It had been the future couple's first real encounter; Sansa had bumped into him on a few different occasions since they both lived on the Street of Steel, but she had never talked to him before and would have never expected that one day she'd be bonded to him as a wife. A deep but unconscious sigh came out of her mouth; Sansa felt uneasy at the idea that in only a fortnight, she would be joining her life with someone that she barely knew. She had had no time at all to prepare herself mentally for that upcoming life-changing event. Until very recently her parents had always told her that she was too young to wed and that she would need to wait at least a few years before her destiny would be permanently tied to the existence of a man of her father's choosing. It was rather unsettling to see all of her expectations be turned upside down so abruptly. Her parents were certainly not overjoyed by the prospect either, but she knew that both of them felt as if it was their only option.

Sansa was neither blind nor witless; she was well aware that her parents' drastic changes of plan were due to their fear of Sandor Clegane, fear of the obvious interest that he had taken in their daughter. Their intention was to use this marriage as a shield to protect Sansa from this man that they dreaded so much. Her parents meant well, of that she had no doubt, but Sansa wasn't convinced that their apprehensions were founded in truth. The Hound wasn't the evil brute that they falsely believed; they were misjudging him in the worst fashion possible! Her mother had even predicted that he would inevitably end up raping her! That was absurd: he had been the one to save her from that fate, not the other way around. Although, Sansa was far from certain of what the Hound had wanted from her throughout his few visits to her house. She had noticed the peculiar desire that had gleamed in his grey eyes every time he had looked upon her, but Sansa had not completely understood its meaning and still couldn't really grasp it. Nevertheless, the very memory of his intense stare made her feel all warm inside. Sansa blushed at these recollections but hastily recovered herself. Men of the Kingsguard were supposed to be celibate, she remembered; they didn't take any wives nor bear any children. The Hound was one of them and thus would never be interested in her in such a way… or could he have fancied breaking his vows with her? Sansa felt her cheeks colour once again at this improper idea. _I should be ashamed of myself for thinking of such things!_

Regardless of what the Hound's intentions had been, it didn't change Sansa's current situation: she was due to marry sooner than she would have wished for with the son of a smith who would, in time, become one himself. His name was Peter and he seemed to be a sweet young man. He wasn't too old or too hard to look upon either at one and twenty with his head full of short brown hair and his shining green eyes. _I shouldn't complain, my parents got me a good match as I have always hoped they would and I'm finally going to marry and start a family as I've been eagerly waiting for since I was little girl..._ These reflections were queerly not as persuasive as they should have been, however Sansa tried to hide her melancholy with a fake smile as she stepped into the kitchen. Her mother appeared tense as she was pouring steaming soup into bowls set on the table. _She's probably preoccupied by my upcoming wedding._ _It must be hard for her to let me go so fast._

"Good evening, mother."

"Oh! Sansa, I had not noticed you had arrived. How was your day? Do you like your betrothed?" Her mother had slightly relaxed at seeing her.

"Oh yes, very much, mother. I'm sure I'll be happy with him." Sansa's tone betrayed her uneasiness but her mother didn't enquire further about it.

"I'm glad to hear it, Sansa. Now seat yourself and eat before the soup cools down."

Sansa did as she was bid while her mother called for the rest of the family to join them for supper. Bran and Rickon ran to their seats, obviously starving, followed by Robb and their father, the latter seeming oddly tired. Between two sips, Sansa caught the strange ill-at-ease glance that her parents shared while seating themselves, but it lasted only for a second and they quickly looked in opposite directions afterward. Both of them seemed absorbed by some mysterious rumination before Sansa's mother finally realised that Arya was still missing.

"Arya's not here yet? I told her to be in time for supper for once! Did you see her this afternoon?" Her last question was addressed to Bran and Rickon.

"We saw her, but earlier today. I don't know where she is now," Bran answered.

As her mother's eyes were slowly widening with worry, Sansa heard running footsteps coming from the forge and approaching the kitchen in a hurry. Sansa's mother turned her heard toward the entrance and sighed with annoyance when she saw her younger daughter step into the room, her face all dirty and her hair a mess as always. Arya was catching her breath as if she had run through the entire city and seemed overly excited about something.

Their mother took a severe tone to address her. "Arya! I told you I've had enough of your constant tardiness. Your father and I will have to find some consequences for your behaviour…"

"Mother!" Arya interrupted, "It won't happen again… I promise… I can explain…" She had a hard time expressing herself, out of breath as she was.

"Sit down and rest for a moment, Arya, you'll then tell us your excuse," their father firmly ordered her.

The siblings all watched their little sister with curiosity as she obeyed their father and pulled up a chair next to Sansa. She drank some water from a glass that was set on the table in front of her, and after a moment she started to explain herself.

"I was about to return home, and I swear I would have been in time if I did, but I overheard a conversation between two sellswords and I had to know more about what they were talking…"

"Arya, that's not proper! I told you before not to spy on people…" Their mother didn't seem pleased at all with her daughter's misconduct but she got interrupted once again by Arya.

"No! Mother, I know, but this time it concerned us! They were talking about the Hound! I thought it might interest you: one of them said that he's been freed from the Kingsguard and that he will go live in the Stormlands as a lord…"

Sansa noticed that both of her parents had turned pale when hearing her sister's report. _Are they regretting how they have chased the Hound away on the last occasion that he came to see me?_

"… and also, he's to marry a commoner girl! One of the sellswords said that he has announced it to the king himself just yesterday. Aren't you happy mother? It means that he won't bother Sansa anymore!" Arya seemed ecstatic at announcing what she believed to be grand news to her family.

Sansa's parents' uneasiness was palpable as they wordlessly stared at each other with questioning looks. Sansa herself felt as if her stomach had twisted painfully, she feared that tears might form in her eyes but tried to calm herself as best she could. _Why would I care about that? I'm to wed very soon myself and I would have never wanted to marry the Hound…_ _what kind of girl would want to marry such a man anyway?_

The kitchen was uncomfortably silent for a long and awkward moment; even Rickon and Bran were holding their tongues for once as they stared warily at their parents while Robb was intensely stirring his soup as if he was seeking something in it.

After a minute or two, Sansa's father finally answered, but without any enthusiasm. "This is good news then, Arya. Don't ever come late again though."

"Yes, father." Arya seemed pleased with herself.

After that odd interlude, the whole family started to sip at their soup with a regained appetite as if nothing had ever happened. Sansa on the other hand could barely touch her food. Her siblings were once again talking to one another with the same energy that they usually had, but their parents were strangely mute and seemingly perturbed by something of which Sansa was ignorant. _Do they regret their behaviour with the Hound now that that they realise that he might have asked for my hand if they didn't treat him so badly?_ Sansa then reasoned that the Hound had most likely never really been interested in her since he was now betrothed to another girl just weeks after their first encounter. He probably already knew his future wife and had planned on marrying her for a long time before Sansa had ever crossed paths with him. The Hound had saved Sansa by chance and had probably only felt a responsibility toward her because of it; she had been very immodest to let her wild imagination exaggerate her own importance in these events. _I'm truly a stupid and naïve child to have let my mind convince me of such falseness._

Why did these realisations affect her so much? She didn't care for the Hound; he was just a coarse man and was in no way what Sansa would have wished for as a husband. Still, she had to use all of her remaining strength not to sob into her soup, but finally gathered enough courage to excuse herself from her family.

"I'm feeling tired tonight and would like to rest. I hope you won't mind if I retire to my bedroom?" she politely asked her parents.

"It's fine, Sansa. Go," her father answered with a gentle but weary smile.

Without delay, Sansa went up the stairs and headed straight to her room before jumping with relief on her straw bed. She then laid her exhausted body on it but didn't cry as she had expected to do; she only stayed immobile for a long time, her mind emptied of any thought, her soul unhappy but queerly numbed and disconnected from the harsh reality that surrounded her.

Sansa stayed in this position for what appeared to be an eternity before she was startled by the loud noise of the front door of the forge suddenly slamming open followed by the heavy footsteps of someone storming inside the house.

"Ned, I need to talk to you." Sansa's eyes popped open right away when she recognised the voice of her future father-in-law coming from beneath her on the first floor.

"What is it, Paul? What could bring you here at this late hour of the night?" Her father seemed confused by this impromptu visit.

"Listen, Ned. You weren't completely honest with me when we agreed on the betrothal of our children. I really don't want any trouble, you see…"

 _Why is he so angry?_ Sansa instinctively seated herself and held her breath.

"I don't understand, Paul…" said her father who was obviously overwhelmed.

"Oh, you know very well of what I'm referring! If you have problems to solve, Ned, solve them on your own! I don't want to be involved in them. I'll give you the dowry back; I'll come here myself in a few days for that matter. Please don't bother yourself and until then, I'd prefer not to see you, or any member of your family too near to my house from now on." With that, the man stalked out of the house as fast as he had come in.

"Oh, Ned… do you think that…" Her mother's voice was filled with concern but Sansa barely heard her words: she was too shaken by the interaction she had just overheard.

 _What happened? What is that trouble Paul talked about?_ Tears were now uncontrollably running down Sansa's cheek but she tried restrain them and used her sleeve to wipe off the wetness of her face. In one quick movement, she got up, ran to the stairs and went down to the kitchen to join her parents; they were sitting around the table with disquieted looks on their face. When they saw her, they both turned their heads in her direction but didn't say a word.

"Why did Paul call off my engagement with Peter? Did I displease him? I didn't realise if I did…" Sansa's voice was low but desperate. She had not loved her betrothed, but such a violent rejection was certainly hard to take.

"No, Sansa, of course not! I'm sure you were perfect..." Sansa's mother had stood up and was now walking toward her with an expression of pity wrinkling her eyes and forehead.

"…but Paul said that I was trouble, that I was a problem that you should keep for yourself!" Sansa couldn't hold back her sobs any longer; she started to tremble as her mother took her in her arms. All the emotions of the day were heavily and cruelly overwhelming her at that moment.

"Oh no, my poor daughter, that's not what he was saying…"

"Tell me then, mother!" Sansa yelled at her with a little more strength than she had intended.

"Shhh..." was her mother only response, making Sansa cry even louder as she read this lack of answer as an involuntarily confirmation of her terrible apprehensions.

After a few painful minutes, Sansa heard her father softly whisper to her, Sansa, you should go to bed and rest, it would do you some good."

Sansa didn't answer, but her mother helped her to her room before tucking her up in her bed. One of her mother's hands was gently caressing her face and drying her eyes as she tried in vain to comfort her, but Sansa was as far away as she could be at that instant and could scarcely hear the words that she was saying. Her mind was slowly sinking into a darkness thicker than tar and as unmerciful as quicksand. _I'm as good as an old maid, nobody will ever want me. Word will spread, Paul will tell everyone how bad a daughter-in-law I would make and I will only get rejection from now on… and the Hound… he never even really liked me as I had foolishly thought. He's to wed another commoner girl, probably far prettier and smarter than me…_

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Catelyn**

Catelyn was cleaning the kitchen but her mind was lost in her thoughts. Yesterday had been a harsh day: that horrible man, Sandor Clegane, was more tenacious than she had dreaded he would be, but was it really surprising that such a notorious killer would try to get his way? Villains like him didn't let anything stop them once they were on their paths, cruel as it may be. That man was exactly like a predator with his eyes on his new-found prey, he would not stop his inexorable chase until he'd conquered and devoured his victim. Since in this case, their daughter was the Hound's goal, as parents they had to do everything in their power to stop him. Sadly, their low commoner station had not given them that many options so betrothing Sansa had been their only way out of this mess. A husband would be a secure defence against this unwanted suitor, or so they had naively believed. The Hound was a ruthless beast and had annihilated this obstacle faster than they would have believed possible. Paul had been lucky to survive the ordeal with no blood shed. The Seven were certainly to thank for that miracle.

Nevertheless, it was evident that Sansa would be harder to betroth from now on. Catelyn had no doubt that the news of the Hound's interest in their sweet daughter would spread across Flea Bottom like wildfire and that no man, no matter how brave, would ever care to take his chances against such a bloodthirsty and renowned warrior. She and Ned might have to send Sansa back North where she could go live with her grand-parents, but would that be truly enough?

Catelyn sighed heavily while scrubbing a stain on the counter. Sandor Clegane had been freed from his vows of celibacy by the king himself and had come to the forge yesterday to ask Ned for Sansa's hand, but even if their daughter had not been already promised to another, how could they have possibly accepted such a proposal? True, the man was now a lord and worth more than his weight in gold, but how could they possibly consent to binding Sansa's life to such a brute? Everyone had heard the awful tales of his brother's multiple marriages and of how each and every wife that he had brought to his keep had quickly died or disappeared in suspicious circumstances. Surely the younger brother had the same sadistic tastes as his older sibling and Sansa should never have to go through horrendous tortures such as those most unfortunate women had.

Her poor daughter, she had probably become enamoured with her young betrothed a little more then she had cared to admit given the extreme reaction that she had had after hearing about the cessation of their short engagement. Sansa's eyes had been all red and sore this morning when she had asked permission to spend some time at the nearby sept. How could they have refused her in such a state of distress? Although, letting her wander the streets by herself was not an option anymore after what had almost occurred on the last occasion she had, so they had asked Robb to escort her. Hopefully she would find some peace in her prayers.

Ned had been silent all morning and had stayed alone in the forge since dawn, seemingly absorbed by some intense reflections. He was obviously concerned and there was no wondering why.

"Bran! Rickon! Arya!" she finally heard him yell. "Go play in the streets for a few hours, your mother and I need to talk."

"Yes, father," they all said at once.

By the window, Catelyn could see her younger children run outside. Her husband then entered the kitchen, his tight expression revealing just how much he was preoccupied at that instant.

"Cat, I took all night and morning to weigh up our options, and I finally came to a conclusion…" Every muscle in his body seemed tense as he pulled up a chair and sat down.

"What is it?" She joined him, taking a seat at the other side of the table.

"We have no other choice left… we have to agree to marrying Sansa to that man if he comes back, which he will, I'm certain of it…"

Catelyn felt as if she had been struck by lightning. "Ned! You can't be serious!"

Her husband's stare was as stern as ever. "Can't you see, Cat? We believed that we could get rid of this man by betrothing Sansa, but even though we never told the Hound who she was to wed, he has found Paul's house in only a few hours all the same. I know we could find Sansa another suitor, but do you really think that the same situation wouldn't happen all over again?" Ned's voice was hoarse and tired.

Catelyn was breathless. She knew all those things to be true, but she was still convinced that they had a few options left. "We could send her North…"

Ned gave her a weak smile devoid of any happiness. "Do you that think that the Hound wouldn't find out? If we did that, he would hear about it as soon as Sansa left the house and with that monstrous horse he rides, he could catch up with her in just a few hours… and what do you think he would do then?" Ned paused an instant and sighed deeply. "Better to give Sansa willingly to the Hound as a wife than for her to be raped by him."

Catelyn was now struggling not to cry. "But Ned! We can't give Sansa to such a dreadful man!"

"My love, don't believe that it makes me happy. I took all night to come to that conclusion. We are but smallfolk and Sandor Clegane has the favour of the king. If anything bad should happen to Sansa, no laws will come to our rescue. I don't delude myself in thinking that the king would ever avenge us if we sought his help against the Hound." Ned's voice lowered as he added, "On the other hand, we can still protect Sansa's honour and virtue by allowing her a _respectable_ marriage with the Hound, as much as the idea disgusts me."

Ned was right, they were stuck. What could they do against the Hound? They had no recourse. _How am I going to announce that to Sansa? Poor girl…_ Catelyn was a proud woman and hated shedding tears in the presence of anyone, but this was getting too much for her. "Ned! She won't be happy with him. He won't be gentle with her, haven't you ever heard of the tragic destinies of his brother's wives? Of how they were cruelly mistreated?" In between her sobs, Catelyn felt the warm touch of her husband's hands on her shoulders. She raised her head to look in his eyes and saw the profound sadness that was filling them.

"Cat, everyone has heard those awful stories, but really, what proof do we have that the Hound would be the same as his brother? Siblings can be different from one another, just look at Arya and Sansa. Surely if Sandor Clegane meant harm to Sansa, he would have already stolen her away from us and raped her, and with no fear of consequences given our low station and the lack of resources that we would have had to bring charges against him."

Ned was holding her tightly in his arms but the small comfort that she took from his embrace was not enough for Catelyn as she was on the verge of breaking down completely. _We should never have left the north! Never!_

Just as they were breaking from each other, the noise of someone slamming open the door of the forge was heard. They both stood up in surprise and jumped as they saw the man that was the very reason of their recent distress storm inside the kitchen. With an insolent smirk on his face, he was obviously content with his recent despicable actions. _Probably nothing new for him, terrorising the smallfolk…_

The Hound leaned on the door frame while staring at them for a short instant before starting to talk with that unpleasant husky voice of his, "I hear your daughter's free again."

"Thanks to you, Lord Clegane," Ned answered in a cold tone as Catelyn and he both sat down again.

The man snorted at that. "What makes you think that I have anything to do with this? Your _fellow smith_ obviously didn't care all that much for that pretty daughter of yours, or else why the fuck would he end his son's betrothal to her?" He walked to the table and sat himself with them. "A bloody fool, I say. A good thing he did that though, your girl deserves a husband that truly wants her and that won't change his fucking mind after just a few days." The Hound's words were heavy with contempt as he spoke of Paul.

"As you say, my lord," said Ned while braving the Hound's insolent stare with his own. "Why are you here?"

Sandor Clegane's smirk had now evolved into a terrifying grin. "You told me on my last visit that you'd have considered my proposal if not for your daughter's bloody _engagement_. She's free again now. So what do you say?" His mouth was twitching in the most disgusting manner, making Catelyn shudder at the very idea that those burned lips could ever touch her daughter.

Ned breathed heavily and frowned at the Hound before answering with a defeated tone, "You've won, my lord. If you still want to marry her, I won't object."

A hush fell over the kitchen for a few seconds during which Sandor Clegane was obviously dumbstruck by such an easy victory. His dark eyes had widened and his expression was suspicious as if he didn't believe the truth of Ned's words. _Or is he disappointed that the fighting is already over?_ The Hound's serious state didn't last for very long though; he quickly relaxed his large body and an evil grin twisted his lips once again as an arrogant gleam shone in his eyes. _He looks exactly like a predator that has caught its prey and is about to devour it._

"Good," the dark man rasped before settling a large hand on the table and adding, "I want to be married as soon as possible, in less than a fortnight. I'll take care of all the arrangements and pay for everything. You want me to tell her myself or do you want to be the one to break the _good news_ to your girl?"

"I would prefer to be the one to tell her," Catelyn hastily answered even though the Hound was not addressing his question to her.

The man turned his ugly head to look at her and rasped, "Fine, if that makes you happy, woman, tell her yourself… but when I come back tomorrow, if she still doesn't know it, you can be damn sure that I won't keep it a secret." Catelyn slowly nodded at him while feeling hate poisoning her soul.

"I'm off then." The Hound stood up and headed for the door. As he was about to get out of the kitchen, he turned to give them a quick glance while saying, "Tomorrow afternoon, I want your daughter to be home for once. A man has a right to see his betrothed, I hope, so don't hide her from me anymore." He then disappeared from their sight.

About an hour later, Sansa and Robb returned from the sept. As Sansa was about to go up the stairs and head to her room, Catelyn asked her to join her in the kitchen.

"As you wish, mother." Her daughter's voice was low and sad.

"Sit down, Sansa. I have… news for you."

Sansa sat on a chair next to her mother before starting to stare wordlessly at her hands. Catelyn was hesitant: how was she going to announce to her sweet little girl the horrible fate that awaited her? Kind hearted as she was, Sansa had not seemed to be that repelled by Sandor Clegane, but marrying him was whole other story.

Catelyn closed her eyes for a moment as if she hoped to find some remaining strength hidden inside of her and then said, "Sansa, we had a visitor today. The Hound came to… ask for your hand."

One of Sansa's delicate hands went straight to her mouth as she gasped in shock and her eyes widened. "Oh! I thought that he was supposed to marry someone else!"

 _My poor girl…_ "No, Sansa." Catelyn was slowly shaking her head while smiling sadly at her daughter.

Incomprehension was plain on Sansa's beautiful face for a moment but she suddenly seemed to understand; her usually milky skin turned to scarlet in a heartbeat and her blue eyes became even bigger than they were already. "It's me? The Hound had wanted to marry me all along?"

Catelyn gave her a tight smile while nodding with no enthusiasm.

The poor child was astonished for a minute before finally speaking again. "Did you say yes? Did you accept?" Sansa seemed nervous while asking that question.

A sigh went uncontrollably out of Catelyn's mouth. "Yes, your father has agreed to the Hound's terms…"

A second gasp went through Sansa's lips and she put both of her hands on her mouth. _My little princess… what a pity this is._ Catelyn took her daughter in her arms and Sansa hugged her back, she then looked at her mother with an overwhelmed expression in her eyes but a small smile was slowly forming itself on her lips.

"You're not too unhappy, Sansa?"

"No, mother… it's fine. Father must know what's good for me."

 _What a well behaved and obedient child, always so eager to please._ There was no point in telling her the truth about how her future husband had trapped them and left them no other option than to unwillingly agree on this marriage.

"He does." Catelyn brushed a lock of hair from her daughter's face before adding with a voice thick with sorrow, "You're a good girl, Sansa."

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Sansa**

For once Arya was helping her to tidy up their room, although the more she thought about it, the more Sansa was certain that she preferred doing it on her own, for her annoying sister couldn't stop talking. Sansa herself was not very talkative this afternoon, her mind was elsewhere. She still couldn't believe all the changes that had once again occurred in her life. She was to marry the Hound in less than a fortnight! How could something like that happen to a girl like her? He was a renowned warrior, a rich man and now, a lord; never in her wildest dreams would she have truly believed that she would one day become a lady and go live in a castle. An uncontrollable smile formed on her lips at the idea.

"Why are you smiling like that, stupid? You're supposed to cry, you're going to marry a hideous monster!" Arya's face was all wrinkled in disgust. Her sister was such a child!

"Stop that, Arya! The Hound is not a hideous monster; he's a fierce looking warrior."

Arya interrupted Sansa as always, yelling at her with her whiny voice. "He's ugly! Are you blind?! His face is awful!" Arya was almost jumping in place and her fists were closed tightly.

"His scars are there to show his bravery," Sansa retorted, using her most mature tone of voice. "Scream in disgust all you want, but I'll be the one living in a castle while you'll still be here in these dirty streets." With that, she calmly headed for the door.

As she was closing it behind her, Sansa heard her sister yell at her from the bedroom, "You're so _stuuuupid_!"

 _I don't care what she thinks. Very soon she'll have to call me Lady Clegane and I won't even have to look at her anymore. If that's what I wish._ Sansa knew that she could never do such a thing though; they were sisters and would always be no matter how much Arya could exasperate her to tears from time to time. Chasing those thoughts from her mind, Sansa went down the stairs and entered the kitchen to join her mother who was sitting next to the table while doing some needlework.

The older woman gave her a queer look as soon as she saw her. "What was that squabble about? I'm sure anyone on the Street of Steel heard your sister's screams."

"It was nothing, mother. Arya was only being a child as always, but I don't blame her, she's still young."

"She is indeed, Sansa." Her mother stood up and approached Sansa before loosely putting her arms around her while staring at her. "You, on the other hand are almost a woman grown, a maiden to be married in less than a fortnight." A deep melancholy was gleaming in her mother's eyes.

"Yes, it's true, mother, but don't be sad about it. These are paths that every maiden has to follow at one point in their life. You did once too." Sansa had put her hands on her mother's shoulders.

With a faint smile curving her lips, her mother sighed before adding, "I know that, Sansa. Only, it's hard for a mother to see her children go, and also-"

Sansa didn't let her finish her sentence; she was in no mood to hear her mother's concerns about her betrothed once again. "Don't worry yourself, mother! Let's talk about the preparations for the wedding instead." She gave her mother her brightest smile, hoping that her enthusiasm would cheer her up. "I should start to work on my maiden's cloak, don't you think? Oh, and what about the dress I'll wear for the ceremony? We had better get some nice fabric very soon and start sewing if we want it to be ready in time!"

The stratagem had partly worked, for her mother's eyes appeared to be a bit drier but when she finally spoke, her voice was crisp and flat. "I don't think that will be necessary. Your betrothed, _Lord Clegane,_ told your father and me that he would take care of all the arrangements and payments concerning your union. I don't know how he intends on proceeding, but he'll probably tell us all about it when he visits us later this afternoon."

 _This afternoon?_ Sansa was suddenly extremely nervous; no one had told her that the Hound was planning on passing by the forge today. _Maybe I should change my dress and redo my hair!_

Her mother, who seemed to have noticed her sudden preoccupation, told her softly but with a hint of annoyance, "Don't bother yourself, Sansa, you're looking beautiful. If this man has been willing to go through all of this trouble just to get you, I'd be extremely surprised if he was repulsed by a few wild locks of hair." All the while, Sansa's mother was tidying some tendrils of her daughter's hair with the tips of her fingers.

A deep blush coloured Sansa's cheeks as she took the time to weigh up the meaning of her mother's words. _He really wants me. Did he leave the Kingsguard for me? Oh, no. I'm thinking too highly of myself again._ Still, the Hound was going to marry far lower than his station by choosing a simple smith's daughter…

Her mother's voice brought her out of the musings she had gotten lost in. "Nevertheless, while you still live with us, you might help me a little. Here, could you mend some of your brothers' clothes for me?"

Sansa hurriedly took the pile of roughspun tunics and breeches that her mother was handing her. "Oh, of course, mother, but I'll go outside to do it. It's such a sunny day; it would be a shame to stay locked up inside the house."

With that, she hastily went out of the kitchen and through the forge, subtly avoiding looking in her father and brother's direction, near the fire where they were both noisily working. When she was outside at last, she sat herself on the bench facing the house and began stitching one of her brothers' over-worn tunics. Her mind was racing at a thousand leagues a second and she was getting pretty anxious at the idea that Sandor Clegane, her future husband, could be there any minute now. What would he do when saw her? Would he still think her beautiful? It had been such a long time since they had seen each other, he might be disappointed when he set his eyes on her again. She wasn't certain of how she should act with him either, it had always been hard for her to figure it out but now that they were betrothed, she really had no clue of what would be expected of her. This man made her feel so nervous and intimidated! How was she ever going to be able to form a whole sentence today?

As Sansa was getting more and more agitated, she was startled by the sound of hoofs clapping against the pavement at the end of the street. She quickly raised her head and felt her heart jump into her throat when she saw the shape of a gigantic black horse approaching her. _He's here already!_ Sansa tried to return to her sewing while she waited for him to be near enough for her to greet him, but it was nearly impossible as her hands were now shaking uncontrollably. When the Hound finally arrived in front of her and jumped off of his stallion, Sansa stood up and timidly started to walk toward him. While she was approaching him, she noticed that they were closely watched by some of her neighbours, their intrusive and curious stares making her feel like some sort of carnival animal.

"Good afternoon, my lord. I'm glad to see you," she finally said, feeling her cheeks blush all the while.

"Are you?" The Hound's lips were formed in this weird half-grin that was so specific to him. He didn't seem to be the least bothered by the onlookers, so Sansa told herself that she shouldn't care either.

"Yes of course, my Lord." She raised her head to look into his dark grey eyes and noticed the uncommon intensity in them as he gazed at her. It did nothing to help her heartbeat slow down to its regular pace.

The man that was to be her husband was now slowly approaching her in a peculiar silence that made Sansa even more uneasy than she was already. When at last only a few feet separated him from her, he stopped and rasped, "You've heard the news, little bird?"

"Yes, you are now a true lord," she answered in a weak and childish voice.

He took another step forward and said, "Not that one, I'm talking of the other, the one that concerns you." His eyes were gleaming with amusement as he cupped her jaw with one of his huge and calloused hands. "We're to marry. Hasn't your _sweet_ mother told you?"

The warmth of his hand was so overwhelmingly pleasant that Sansa was speechless for a moment and could only nod as an answer while she leaned into his touch. The Hound not only seemed pleased by her reaction but he also appeared to read it as an encouragement to go further. In a quick movement, he reached for Sansa's thin waist with his free hand and yanked her closer to him. As her body collided onto his, she squeaked in surprise but nevertheless yielded to his embrace with no resistance whatsoever while letting her hands rest on his torso. She had never been held so tightly by anyone before and Sandor Clegane was certainly not anybody: not only was he a grown man but most of all he was exceptionally tall and brawny. Sansa could feel the Hound's sturdy muscles pressing against her lean body as he was slowly but firmly stroking the small of her back and her waist with his left hand in an assured movement. His other hand slid from her face and went behind her head, his strong fingers tangling themselves into her hair for a moment before going down her back and finally resting itself on her hip. He was towering over her to such an extent that for their eyes to meet Sansa had to crane her neck and he had to lower his head and look down. Nevertheless there was no denying that Sansa enjoyed the feeling of being dwarfed by this imposing man.

Butterflies were starting to fill Sansa's stomach as the Hound asked her in a low hoarse voice: "Not too disappointed to marry adog instead of that _smith's son_ your parents had planned for you?" His face was only a few inches from hers and his eyes were shining with a hunger that fascinated her as much as it frightened her.

 _I have to say something, or else he'll take me for a halfwit._ "No, of course not. I'm… very flattered and overjoyed that you have asked for my hand, my lord."

For a split second, Sansa glimpsed a spark of annoyance flashing in his dark eyes. "Don't call me ' _my lord'_. You know what my name is, don't you, little bird?"

"Yes." Sansa nodded timidly.

"Say it." She could feel his breath as his face drew closer to hers.

The good education with which she had been raised made Sansa hesitant and uncomfortable at calling a lord by his fist name, but she most of all didn't want to displease her betrothed so she shyly answered his request in an almost inaudible whisper. "Sandor."

The Hound briefly closed his eyes when hearing his name but quickly reopened them before pressing his lips on Sansa's in a mix of force and softness that was so overtly masculine that it sent a shock of bliss straight to her loins. The unexpected sensation made Sansa gasp in surprise and, as if this gesture had been an invitation, the Hound softly slipped his tongue inside of her slightly opened mouth. The feeling of his tongue sliding against hers in a slow caress was unlike anything that Sansa had ever experienced and the pleasure that she gained from it was so overwhelming that she instinctively moaned into his mouth. The Hound abruptly broke from their kiss to look at her with a questioning but delighted expression. Sansa used this pause to get her breath back, but it wasn't long before her betrothed was pressing his lips on hers again. His tongue was now exploring her mouth with renewed passion and Sansa blindly followed his lead. His hands were now on her sides, slowly getting higher and his fingers were digging into her ribcage as if they were seeking for something that they could not find.

Sansa was raising her hands higher on the Hound's broad chest when she heard her mother call out her name. "Sansa! What are you doing?"

A deep flush instantly formed itself on Sansa's face as she tried to move away from the Hound but he kept his hands tightly on her waist and only turned his head to look at her mother before rolling his eyes and grunting loudly.

"She's spending time with her betrothed, can't you see? I would've thought that it was fucking obvious." He roughly rasped these words while never loosening his grip on Sansa.

While she was slowly regaining her senses, Sansa realised in astonishment that something hard and seemingly big was pressed against her belly. _What is it? Oh…_ As she understood what it might be, she shut her eyes in shame and felt her cheeks reddening even more than they were already.

Sansa's mother was walking toward them while addressing the Hound in a severe tone. "I'm not blind, _Lord Clegane_. These kinds of… activities won't be acceptable until you're officially husband and wife. Before then, you'll have to act chastely and respectfully as any good betrothed would with his future bride. I also won't let Sansa spend time with you if not in the company of a reliable chaperone." With that, Sansa's mother took her by the arm and pulled her away from the Hound.

The man hastily turned around and went to fix something on Stranger's saddle, not far away from them. He then came back, sighing heavily. "You damn smallfolk are prouder than noblemen! How am I supposed to wait a whole bloody fortnight before being allowed to _properly_ kiss your daughter, my wife-to-be?"

"How you manage to do it is none of my concern, my lord, but you should know that it is how things have _always_ been done. Don't you think my daughter is worth the wait?"

With a look of fury in his stormy eyes, the Hound stared at Sansa's mother for a long moment, his mouth twitching madly, before he finally answered with evident exasperation, "Of course she is, you damn woman. I'll wait as you ask." He then seemed to remember something and a smirk formed on his lips. "We'll have to make an exception today, though. I have to bring your daughter to the tailor: I made an appointment for her this afternoon. Your girl will need new dresses, plenty of them, and all of them fit for a lady." He was now grinning widely and gazing down at Sansa. "What do you say about that, little bird? You'd like it, I wager?"

"Oh yes! Thank you… Sandor," Sansa said while offering him her brightest smile.

"There's no exception in courtship, my lord," Sansa heard her mother say. "You'll need a chaperone. If you'd like, I could accompany you both to the shop."

"How the fuck am I supposed to carry you both there? I only have one bloody horse! The shop is not in Flea Bottom as you can guess, and we have no damn time to walk up there," the Hound abruptly snapped at her mother.

"Sansa and I could take a cart while you would ride by our side. There are usually a couple of them waiting for customers at the nearby market. You can certainly afford to spend a few more coppers for our comfort, am I right, _Lord Clegane_?" Her mother's voice was soft but her gaze was almost insolent.

Sansa glanced up at her future husband to see that his jaw was tense and his eyes were similar to the ones of a rabid animal. She tried to get his attention and when she achieved it, she gave him a pleading look. She really wanted those gowns.

Sandor - she should think of him this way from now on, Sansa thought - jerked his head back in exasperation and almost yelled his response to her mother. "Fine then! You come too. Wait here, both of you, I'll go get the damn cart."

The big man turned his back on them, jumped on his black stallion and quickly disappeared from their sight. Sansa couldn't think of any conversation to entertain with her mother, so she went to sit on the bench and tried to go back to her sewing. Her mother entered the forge to inform Sansa's father about their outing with the Hound and as she was joining her daughter on the bench, Sandor was back followed by a cart, as promised. Sansa almost ran to sit inside of it but her mother took her time walking toward it before seating herself next to her daughter. The cart then started to move and Sandor took the lead in front of it to show the way to its coachman. They were all heading toward the Red Keep and Sansa couldn't hold her excitement but she was also nervous at the idea of going to an upscale neighbourhood for the first time in her life. She knew very well that she didn't look the part of a lady with her plain grey dress and her lack of jewellery, but why should she care? She was with _the Hound_ and no one would ever dare to laugh at her! Her mother was apparently less enthusiastic; she even seemed somewhat irritated but kept silent anyway. People all gave way for them as soon as they glanced at the Hound; they undeniably were all frightened by him. Sansa got a thrill at the knowledge that her existence would soon be bound to this fearsome man; no one would ever care to even think of harming her with such a fierce husband by her side! As they were getting near the Red Keep, Sansa noticed that the people that she saw were wearing finer clothes and that the houses were bigger and cleaner than what she was used to seeing. They came across a lot of gold cloaks on their way and most of them were respectfully nodding at Sandor when he passed by them, but he himself didn't even glance back at any of them.

At one point, one of those men improperly stared down at Sansa and then yelled at Sandor, "Hey, Clegane! I understand you for leaving the Kingsguard now! Nice little thing you got there! I'm certain she tastes sweet!"

Sandor turned his head to the man and rode Stranger to where he was standing. The gold cloak, now apparently regretting his words, seemed uneasy while gazing without assurance at Sandor.

"You, shut your buggering mouth, or else - believe me - you'll beg me for mercy before long." Sandor's voice was a low but menacing snarl.

"Hey, I didn't mean anything by that…"

"Next time that you mean nothing, be sure to keep that fucking mouth of yours shut." Sandor then left the man and led Stranger back in front of the cart, continuing on his path to the tailor as if nothing had happened.

It didn't take too long after this encounter before they arrived at the shop. Sandor helped Sansa down off the cart before offering her mother his assistance; she accepted but appeared stiff while leaning on his arm as she was setting her feet on the ground. The shop was manifestly a place where noblewomen went to order their gowns judging by the rich rolls of fabrics that were displayed next to its door. Sansa was beaming with happiness and she noticed that her betrothed was smirking at her, clearly satisfied by her unmistakable excitement. She gave him a huge grin to which he huskily laughed and Sansa decided that she liked that laughter even though it wasn't soft or melodic but hoarse and rough. _What is mother doing?_ She turned around to see that her mother was staring in another direction, looking tense and annoyed. _She shouldn't be so mad; Sandor is being very nice to me._

As they all entered the shop, a man standing behind the counter greeted them. "Lord Clegane! We were waiting for you." He turned toward Sansa and added, "This must be your young betrothed; a beautiful girl, to say the least." Sandor only grunted at that. The tailor then gazed at Sansa's mother. "And, by the looks of her, this young lady accompanying her has to be her mother. You certainly share her beauty, my lady."

Sansa's mother seemed ill at ease at being called 'my lady', but she acquiesced nonetheless. "Yes, I am her mother, my lord."

"Oh, I am no lord, only a simple tailor," the man humbly retorted.

"Not that simple, judging by the quality of your products," Sansa's mother politely answered back at the man.

Sandor was looking down at them with open impatience before roughly rasping at the tailor, "Enough small talk. Now get on with your bloody work, tailor. I told you what I want: a bunch of nice dresses for my betrothed, the kind that the _ladies_ like. I don't have a damn clue of what she should need or want, but make her happy, can you?"

"I can and will, my lord," the tailor said energetically, before going into the back of the store. He shortly came back with three women and looked in Sansa's direction while saying, "You may follow the seamstresses, my lady; they'll need to take your measurements."

Sansa, like her mother, was somewhat taken aback at being called a _lady_ , but she did as the tailor asked of her and followed the seamstresses behind a folding screen. The women didn't need to undress her to do their work as Sansa's dress was simple and thin; it took them only a few minutes before they were done.

When she came back from behind the screen, Sansa went straight to her future husband and thanked him. "Thank you, Sandor." She sighed softly. _I wish I could kiss him as we did earlier, to show him how grateful I am…_

"I should thank you also, you're very generous with my daughter, Lord Clegane," Sansa's mother added dryly as she approached them.

Almost at the same time, the tailor asked Sandor, "That will be all, my lord?"

Sansa, who was still staring at her husband-to-be, saw a spark pass through his eyes at that instant. He then looked down at the tailor and answered, "No. I'd like also to order a gown for my _lady mother-in-law_ just there _._ A present… for the wedding. She should have something nice to wear for the ceremony." He was now grinning and Sansa didn't understand why he seemed so proud and contented to offer a dress to her mother. _Maybe he just wants to coax her into liking him at least a little bit._

The unexpected present seemed to disconcert Sansa's mother but it would have been rude for her to refuse it. _She also probably wants the dress_ , Sansa mused happily as she watched her mother go behind the folding screen. As soon as her mother had joined the seamstresses, Sansa was startled by a strong hand grasping her wrist; she immediately gazed up at Sandor who was now quickly leading her out of the shop.

"Follow me, little bird."

She obediently did as he bid her and went out the door while giggling softly. When they were out, Sandor dragged her through a small alley that led behind the shop and gently but firmly pushed her against a wall. He circled her waist with his warm hands before kissing her once again with a passion so fervent that it surpassed their first attempt earlier that afternoon. Sansa moaned in pleasure as his tongue slowly slid against hers. Her arms went automatically up on Sandor's chest and as her delicate hands were reaching for his shoulders, he lifted her from the ground and leaned some of his weight onto her to help her stand against the wall. This time, it didn't take her very long to realise that the same stiffness that she had felt earlier that day was rubbing against her once again - only a bit lower now - and as much as it shamed her and made her blush, she couldn't deny that she was madly enjoying this new sensation. Her legs were about to grip themselves more firmly around Sandor when her mother interrupted them for the second time of the day. She was clearly shocked by her daughter's wanton behaviour.

"What's that again? Sansa, get off of him. Lord Clegane, please, put her down."

Sandor set her down on the ground and growled something that was probably a curse. He then turned around and headed for Stranger to fix something on his saddle while Sansa's mother was eyeing him with suspicion.

When Sandor was done with his horse, her mother told him, "I think you've had enough time with your betrothed for today, my lord. We won't need you to escort us back home, the cart will be just fine for that. Thank you for offering it so generously."

"A _pleasure_ ," Sandor replied, almost contemptuously. He then went to see the coachman who was resting in the shade of tree and tossed a few coins at the old man before ordering him to bring Sansa and her mother back home. The man hastily nodded and climbed back onto the front of the cart.

Sansa's mother stiffened once again as Sandor helped her inside the cart. While she was seating herself, he asked her mockingly "You won't complain if I give one last _chaste_ kiss to my future wife, I hope?"

"A _chaste_ kiss." Her mother's commanding tone made the word sound like a warning.

A light squeak escaped Sansa's lips as her husband-to-be put both his hands around her waist and raised her from the ground once again before pressing his lips on hers in a not-very-chaste fashion, but since no tongues had been involved and the kiss didn't last for very long, her mother didn't say a word of reproach as they broke from their embrace.

"Good night, Sandor," Sansa told him as the cart started to move away from him. She turned around in her place to watch her betrothed as she was going down the street; Sandor was also gazing in her direction but stayed in place in front of the shop. At one point, the cart took a different street and Sandor disappeared completely from Sansa's sight.

 


	10. Chapter 10

**Sansa**

As her mother was meticulously styling her long hair, Sansa was staring at the mirror that hung before her with joyful disbelief. Her auburn locks had been brushed until they shone and her mother was now braiding them in the northern fashion, leaving most of the thick mass of hair loose on Sansa's shoulders and back. The young maid smiled in contentment at her mother to thank the older woman for her good work but quickly returned her gaze to the beautiful gown that was hugging her lean body like a silken second skin.

The dresses that Sandor had ordered for her trousseau had been delivered to her house a few days before and each of them exceeded any expectation that Sansa had ever had of what would one day fill her wardrobe. She had spent hours caressing the soft silks and velvets, her fingers tracing each delicate detail and embellishment as if nothing so precious had ever existed in all of the Seven Kingdoms. Even the fabric of her travelling clothes surpassed anything that she had ever owned and made any of her old dresses appear as overused rags. Nonetheless, Sansa had decided that the gowns should symbolise the beginning of her new life with Sandor and thus would have to stay inside of her chest until her wedding day. _Anyway,_ she had thought, _the Street of Steel is no place for such fineries._

Earlier that morning, Sansa's mother had helped her with lacing up and adjusting her wedding dress, but with some difficulties as they both weren't used to gowns of such quality. It was a ravishing thing, all ivory and cream with full skirts, long sleeves and white flowers embroidered along the line of the bodice. _A princess would not have looked better_ , Sansa mused, a grin on her lips while staring at her reflection as her mother was finishing her hair.

"You look beautiful, Sansa." Her mother was clearly touched by the sight of her eldest daughter dressed as a bride and ready to be married.

"Thank you, mother, you look very nice too," Sansa said, while admiring her mother who was dressed in the gown that Sandor had offered her.

The elegant dress of green velvet flattered the older woman's thin figure and Sansa had smiled uncontrollably and almost squeaked in pleasure at seeing her father's look of amazement while he gazed at his wife garbed so beautifully. _Good, if this can help them appreciate Sandor at least a little bit, I'd be so happy._

Sansa smoothed her skirts while sighing softly. She had seen her betrothed only on a couple of occasions since their outing at the tailor. Their upcoming journey to the Stormlands required a lot of preparation and the ceremony also needed some planning. Sansa knew all that, but she nevertheless missed Sandor and longed for his warm and manly kisses. _Very soon mother won't be there to chaperone us anymore,_ she thought while feeling her cheeks flush. On each of their encounters, Sansa and her betrothed had always been closely watched by either her mother or her brother Robb and Sandor had followed the rules: he always stayed in their sight while satisfying himself with the chaste kisses that her mother had allowed them. _Mother only wants what's best for me, I have no doubt in that, but it saddens me that she thinks so lowly of Sandor._

She still could hear her mother's warning echoing in her ears: "A maiden must never let her guard down with _anyone_ , even with her betrothed," the older woman had told Sansa on the same day that she had interrupted the embraces that her daughter had shared with Sandor. "Do you realise, Sansa, what might happen to you if you were ever left alone with the Hound, even for a short period of time? Do you truly think that a man like him wouldn't try to go further than those kisses that you seem to enjoy? What if he decided that he should take your maidenhead before the ceremony? We have no contract with this man, so your only protection is to stay intact and refuse him until you are both legally bound before the eyes of gods and men."

Sansa had been shocked at hearing her mother's worries: she had never even thought of giving herself to Sandor before their wedding and she was convinced that he had never intended anything of that nature either.

When Sansa had told her the same, her mother had only laughed and added in a cynical tone, "Oh, Sansa, it's not you that I don't trust, it's him."

Why couldn't she see that Sandor was not as bad as she believed he was? There was no use in musing about her mother's misconceptions though, it was her wedding day and Sansa wanted her mind to be filled with joy, so she chased away all the negativity that was troubling her and smiled at her mother.

"Where is my maiden cloak, mother?"

"I have it, Sansa. Here, take it." Her mother handed it to her.

It was a gorgeous piece of work and Sansa was very proud of it because she had made it by herself from start to finish. Since she came from a family of smallfolk and had no sigil of her own, Sansa had decided that her maiden cloak should be embroidered with patterns that represented her native North. She had set her choice on a white fabric that would symbolise the snow that was so common up there and had stitched some weirwood trees and winter roses on the hem; she had even added a small hammer to honour her father and her origins as a smith's daughter.

"Are you girls ready now? We're going to be late soon and I would certainly not want Lord Clegane to believe that we had a last minute change of heart concerning his wedding," Sansa heard her father call out with laughter in his voice from outside the house where the rest of the family was waiting for them.

"We're coming, Ned. I have no desire to infuriate the Hound, don't worry yourself," her mother replied with shared mirth.

Sansa was perplexed: as much as she was annoyed by the way that her parents were making fun of Sandor, she couldn't deny that this new attitude was a slight improvement in comparison to their former desperate one. _Laughter is better than tears, I suppose._

A cart was waiting for them outside the forge and the whole family was already piled inside of it as Sansa and her mother finally went out of the house. _Oh! The sun is already up in the sky, father was right, we are late!_ How could she be late for her own wedding? What would Sandor think of her for that? Sansa's hands were moist from anxiety as she seated herself next to her sister who was scowling as if this day was the worst of her life.

"I can't believe you're going to marry a stupid dog," Arya whispered in her sister's ear.

"Stop that, Arya! You don't even know him!" Sansa was ready to jump into one of those interminable arguments that she so often shared with her younger sister, but their mother spoke up and silenced them both.

"Arya, don't try to spoil your sister's day, and you, Sansa, at your age you should know how to behave and not let yourself be drawn into these childish squabbles." The severity of their mother's tone didn't leave any options to the sisters who both kept their mouths shut for the rest of their journey to the sept.

Although Sandor had recently been elevated to the rank of lord, the sept in which the ceremony was to take place was a modest one that was usually frequented by wealthier smallfolk and some lesser noblemen and women. It would have been unthinkable for a commoner such as Sansa to share her holy vows before the same altars as high lords and ladies, but the young bride was not the least saddened by what she might have perceived as a prejudice. The idea that she was heading for a small sept was even strangely comforting as she doubted that she would have been totally at ease otherwise.

When the cart finally arrived at its destination, Sansa noticed that her husband-to-be was waiting for them while impatiently pacing the square across from the sept. He immediately headed in their direction when he spotted the family.

"You're late," he roughly rasped at no one in particular, but he seemed relieved more than anything else.

"Yes, my lord, but we're here now, and with your young bride. An hour is nothing in comparison to the years that you'll share with our sweet daughter from now on, Lord Clegane. You shouldn't complain that her parents wanted to keep this lovely girl a few moments more," Sansa's mother said, with a spark of malice shining in her eyes.

Sandor barked a hoarse laugh in agreement. "Aye, fair enough. Let's go now."

The family all got off the cart and Sansa's father assisted her with great deal of care in order to avoid damaging her delicate silk dress. The man genuinely smiled at his daughter while taking her arm in his and led her toward the sept.

With its colourful stained glass and its luxurious tapestries decorating the stone walls, the inside of the small building was prettier than Sansa had expected. _If that's the way a minor sept is adorned, I wonder what the Great Sept of Baelor must look like!_ The benches were empty apart from her parents and siblings, giving Sansa another reason to be satisfied by the humble but appropriate size of the place. The septon was leading the prayers and two singers were accompanying him from time to time with voices so melodic that Sansa might have believed that she had been transported to the seven heavens if she had not known better. _This is so beautiful, like in a dream!_ Although she was ecstatic and couldn't stop grinning, the young bride was also beginning to be slightly nervous as she anticipated her first night with her new husband. She had a basic notion of what would be expected of her and had even once or twice witnessed animals mating when she still lived in the North, but she felt nevertheless mostly ignorant on the matter. _Since I like his kisses, I suppose it shouldn't be so bad to share his bed… and I already felt his… his …_ The simple thought of what was hidden between a man's thighs instantly coloured Sansa's cheeks and she lowered her eyes in shame. Her anxiety was growing and a queer numbness was slowly taking over, making her feel as if she was floating in clouds instead of standing on solid ground.

When the time for the changing of the cloaks had finally arrived, Sansa's father stood up and went behind his daughter to untie the maiden's cloak from her shoulders. He seemed moved as he left with the white cloth in his hands while Sandor hastily supplanted him, losing no time wrapping his bride in his family colors. All the while, Sansa glanced at her family: her mother was apparently struggling not to shed tears while her other siblings seemed mostly bored, apart from Arya who was fuming for some unknown reason. The lack of enthusiasm that they displayed didn't do anything to diminish Sansa's happiness at that moment though. The young maid quickly returned her gaze to Sandor who was now looming before her with an aura of contentment about him.

Sansa shyly smiled at him before reciting her vows in a weak and nervous voice. "With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lord and husband."

As he heard these words, Sandor grinned and his grey eyes gleamed with satisfaction. "With this kiss I pledge my love and take you for my lady and wife," he replied with his husky voice that now felt like a caress to her ears.

A warm hand cupped Sansa's cheek while another grasped her waist; she then closed her eyes as she felt Sandor's lips passionately pressing themselves against hers. The kiss lasted only a few seconds as befitted a wedding, and as Sandor broke from their embrace, he gazed down at his new wife with a hint of possessiveness glowing in his dark eyes. Sansa herself couldn't stop smiling as she reached for his strong hands. _It's done! I can't believe it, were married!_

 


	11. Chapter 11

**Sandor**

The ceremony was long and dull as anything slightly linked to the faith could be expected to be. Even the singing was annoying. Sandor had never liked religious hymns and those two buggering singers would certainly not change his mind on the matter. It was worth suffering through these boring formalities though: the girl would be his very soon – truly his – and her damn parents would finally be done interfering between him and his little bird from now on.

While holding back a yawn, Sandor glanced at his pretty bride beside him: her big blue eyes were wide as she stared at the septon with a huge smile on her luscious lips. She obviously enjoyed this shit. _Good, at least there'll be one of us remembering this bloody ceremony if ever our pups have any question about it._ The simple idea of becoming a father almost made Sandor laugh instantly, but he knew better than to burst into laughter in the middle of his own wedding. As he was still struggling to control his surge of mirth, Sandor's eyes were caught by the perfect shape of his wife-to-be's arse. He couldn't wait for the blessed moment when he would finally stroke it firmly as he had so often envisioned he should. Sandor's eyes then quickly travelled to the girl's breasts. They too needed stroking, he mused _._ Her milky teats weren't that big, but they would fill his hands nicely. _Fuck me!_ _I shouldn't think about that just now._ Sandor sighed and instantly turned his gaze to the fat septon that was conducting the prayers, hoping that this would help to calm his growing erection.

The prayers were finally over and the little bird's father stood up to join his daughter at the front of the sept. As the smith removed the maiden cloak from the girl's frail shoulders, Sandor hastily took his place behind her while jealously eyeing the other man _. Move on, it's my turn protecting her, old man,_ Sandor thought, even though his new father-in-law was only slightly older than him.

The dog that he was had never been fond of sacred vows and all of that knightly bullshit, but these vows were different as Sandor knew that he would care to keep his word on them. As he recited them, he couldn't help but smile as if he was a fucking squire, but bugger them all if they thought that he looked like a damned fool: the girl was his now, she was his little bird, his wife. _Too bad the wedding protocol doesn't require that I fuck her right there on the altars,_ he mused while chastely kissing his bride.

 _Done with the first ordeal, now the fucking feast awaits._ Calling it a feast was a bit of an overstatement as Sandor had only bought a pig to be roasted with vegetables, a few loaves of bread, some sweets and a whole lot of wine, but smallfolk would never dare to complain of such a meal. The food had been delivered to the forge since Sandor couldn't bloody invite them all in his chambers at the Red Keep. His _in-laws_ had seemed pleased with this arrangement but Sandor himself didn't give a rat's arse about these kinds of details; all he truly wanted was to skip the damned feast and jump straight to the bedding, and he would have done it without a second thought if not for the sake of his little bird's happiness.

As they went out of the sept, Sandor's _wife_ was holding his thick arm while leaning her head against it. She was about to leave him and walk toward the cart when the dark man stopped her by grabbing her small hand in his big one.

"Where do you think you're going, little bird? You're coming with me on Stranger this time."

He pulled her closer to him and caressed her soft hair, admiring its beauty for an instant before scooping her up by the waist and lifting her up onto his stallion's saddle. The girl squeaked and giggled all the while, the sound of her melodic voice heating Sandor's blood as he tried to imagine how it would sound moaning and crying in pleasure. _Soon, dog, soon. Be patient._

A voice disrupted him from his thoughts: "I suppose we'll meet at the forge, Lord and _Lady_ Clegane," Sandor heard the smith say, while smiling at his daughter.

The girl happily giggled again. "Yes, father," she answered while waving at the rest of her family as they were entering the cart.

Sandor watched as the cart moved away from them before suddenly turning his attention back to his wife who was sitting on Stranger's saddle while looking down at him for once. She was glowing: her deep blue eyes were shining with bliss and her full pink lips were innocently smiling at him as if he was everything that she had ever dreamed of. _She's a fool to be so delighted at marrying a bloody dog like me, but I'd be a bigger fool to complain._ His little bird was worth far more than him and completely clueless about it, but Sandor would never be the one to tell her. A dog would never leave such a juicy bone once his teeth were set on it.

"Are we going… my husband?" the little bird asked shyly.

 _Seven bloody hells!_ How could anyone be that adorable and that arousing at the same time? Sandor grinned at her as he jumped on his horse's back and lost no time before setting his hands on her sides while breathing in the feminine scent that oozed from her beautiful reddish hair. _Everything is sweet and perfect about this girl,_ he reflected as he kissed her soft white throat. She jerked her head sideways, generously offering more of herself but Sandor was craving the taste of her plump lips instead. One of his hands went to cup her cheek and gently turned her head, their mouths then met with passion and Sandor felt himself instantly grow hard in his breeches. _Nothing bloody new with this girl._ He'd better stop before he fucked her in some dark alley, but it was easier to think than to do. At last, he painfully broke from their kiss and took Stranger's reins in hands while his wife was leaning into him. The girl stiffened for an instant before blushing a pretty shade of pink. _She felt it. No fucking wonder, I'm hard as a rock._

The mouth-watering smell of the roasting pig welcomed them as they entered the Street of Steel. Some onlookers were glancing jealously in the dead animal's direction as the maids and squires that would follow the couple on their journey were turning it on a spit in front of the forge. Sandor's new staff had been at work for a few hours now and the meat was almost ready to be eaten. A travelling cart that was filled with the little bird's belongings and the few things that Sandor cared to bring along with him was parked not far from the forge and the burned man rode Stranger toward it.

"See that mare there, little bird? She's yours. Do you like her?" Sandor asked, while pointing in the direction of an elegant bay horse that was drinking from a watering-place not far from them.

"Yes, of course, only… I don't know how to ride," the shy girl almost whispered while her cheeks coloured once again.

How could he have not thought of that? Commoners, especially women, usually didn't own horses. At the most, they would wander around the streets on donkeys or mules, but they didn't ride well enough to travel across the realm.

"You'll learn later then. We'll go to Woodbridge on Stranger's back."

"I could also travel in the cart, if you prefer."

"Piss on that. Too bloody slow. The squires and maids will join us later with our things. Take only your travelling clothes in a satchel; you'll have the rest a few days after our arrival. I have no intention of spending more time than necessary on the road." As he said these words, Sandor jumped off of his stallion.

The girl pouted. "What about the mare?"

 _She likes her already,_ Sandor thought proudly to himself, before grabbing the girl's tiny waist and smirking at her. "Don't worry yourself, pretty bird; the squires will bring her along with them." He then lifted her from the saddle but didn't put her on the ground right away; instead he kept her in his arms and kissed her softly.

A whiny cry interrupted Sandor as he was about to slide his tongue against his wife's. "That's _gross_! You should hide yourselves to do things like that! _Eww!_ _Sansaaa_!"

With a grunt of annoyance, Sandor looked down at where the cry had come from while setting his little bird on the ground. "Don't look if you don't like it," he rasped. It was his wife's skinny sister; she had already dirtied herself beyond recognition in comparison to the clean little girl that he had seen at the sept. "You little toad," he added with a sneer.

The toad's eyes widened in fury. "I'm not a toad!" she yelled at him with her hands tightly closed into fists as if she was ready to hit him.

"Stop that, Arya!" the little bird said, vainly trying to calm her sister.

A coarse laugh came out of Sandor's burned lips. "A toad that tries to bite! I've seen everything now. The girl thinks she's a she-wolf but her claws are too soft." He barked an even huskier laugh at that. "You take after that bloody mother of yours: both of you have a liking for interrupting your sister and I at the worst moments possible."

The skinny girl eyed him with hate before running away from them and joining her younger brothers who were playing not far from there.

A table had been set in front of the house since it was a warm day and its kitchen was far too small for the food, the whole family and the staff to fit in. As he was inspecting the set-up from afar, Sandor felt a delicate hand softly touch his calloused one and he grabbed it instantaneously.

"Come," he whispered in the little bird's hair while drawing her to the table.

The couple sat next to one another and Sandor yanked his wife's chair closer to his before putting his arm around her shoulders. His _in-laws_ and their oldest son joined them shortly after, while the mother was calling for the younger children to stop playing and come eat with them. The squires and maids were serving the food and pouring wine into everyone's goblets as Sandor eyed the little bird's parents, noticing their evident uneasiness at being attended to with a malicious pleasure. After a few moments of becoming accustomed to it, the commoners all seemed delighted as they greedily ate their food in silence.

The smith was the first one to talk. "So, my lord, as you told me, you intend to leave King's Landing right after you have eaten. In how many days do you predict that you'll reach Woodbridge?"

"Less than a week, I'd wager," Sandor answered before taking a long swig from his wine goblet.

There was no use in staying with them for the bedding since the little bird's family assuredly and understandably didn't care to undress the girl themselves and to hear her moans and cries reverberate through their modest house as Sandor dutifully eradicated any trace of her maidenhead.

"Good, I hope you won't meet any bandits on your way," added the smith while cutting some meat with his dagger.

A rough laugh escaped the burned man's mouth. "I'd be afraid for those fuckers instead if I were you. Anyone who attacks me or your daughter is a dead man." Sandor glanced at his wife while issuing his warning and she smile sweetly at him before burrowing her head into his chest as if he had just recited a buggering love poem in her honour.

The little bird's mother appeared somewhat irritated at hearing her new son-in-law's retort, but she nonetheless smiled stiffly at him and said with a voice weak with emotion, "That's good to know. Take good care of her, my lord."

"I will," Sandor answered, suddenly serious while tightening his arm around his wife's shoulders.

For an instant, the mother's smile appeared to be almost genuine but they were disrupted by the maids as they arrived with the sweets and noisily set the large plates on the table.

"Mmm, this is so good! What is it?" asked the little bird while tasting a small and frosted cake.

"Lemon cake. Never tasted it before?"

She only shook her head in response.

"I'll make sure we'll always have some at Woodbridge," Sandor assured her while caressing her hair.

* * *

He had told his little wife's parents that he wanted to leave the city early in order to put as many leagues as possible between him and King's Landing by the time twilight came, but Sandor had shamelessly lied. He usually didn't like lying but this time, he had had no choice. There was no fucking way in all the buggering seven hells that after more than a moon's turn of obsessing over the little bird, he could wait until the night to finally undress her and take her as she needed to be taken. The King's Gate was just behind them when Sandor stopped Stranger in front of an inn and jumped off the large horse.

"Why are we stopping here? I thought we would be riding until dark." The little bird seemed nervous, as any maiden had a right to be moments before her bedding.

Sandor eyed her with what he knew was a look of hunger; he felt as if he were a starved animal finally within reach of his prey. "The feast is not over for me, little bird. I want a taste of you now."

She stiffened under his touch as he grabbed her waist and lifted her from the back of the stallion. When the girl's feet were on solid ground, Sandor took one of her soft little hands and dragged her inside the inn. She wasn't looking at him anymore and appeared slightly lost as they entered the common room and approached the counter where the innkeeper was waiting. _Poor anxious little bird,_ he mused, knowing very well that her uneasiness wouldn't stop him from fucking her senseless. She was his wife after all and the ice had to be broken, same as her maidenhead. With strong fingers, he gently caressed the little bird's jaw and cheek and she raised her eyes at the gesture to look at him while smiling shyly. _That's better._

Sandor turned his eyes on the innkeeper. "A room. The best you have. With a fireplace and a featherbed if you have it. And some wine."

"You have the gold?" asked the old woman at the counter.

"Aye. My horse is outside. Make sure he's fed and brought to the stables," he said, while tossing a few coins at her.

"As you bid, my lord," the woman answered, before yelling some commands at a skinny lad not far from her.

"Follow me, my lord, I'll show you the way." She grabbed a skin of wine and went up the stairs as fast as her old body allowed her.

Sandor gazed down at his little bird; she was biting her lip nervously and he could feel the dampness of her slender hand in his. In one quick movement, he ducked and lifted her into his arms. She squeaked in surprise and her deep blue eyes met his stare. Sandor kissed her throat and she closed her eyes while leaning into his torso with her arms resting around his neck. The man then followed the old woman to their wedding room. _I can't believe I'll finally fuck that girl._ Sandor was already as hard as he had ever been when he closed the door behind him with his foot.

As carefully as he could, he settled his little bird onto the feather bed. She was all flushed and once again avoiding his gaze. As much as he felt bad for her, Sandor was also queerly aroused by her maiden shyness. He had never had a maid before, he suddenly realised. It would be hard for him to control himself and not to hurt her more than necessary but Sandor would nonetheless do his best, even if he knew all too well that the battle was lost in advance.

His hand went searching for the wineskin that was laid on a small table in the corner of the dim room. As he was drinking greedily from it, Sandor decided that he should open the shutters: he wanted to admire every detail of his new wife's young body in the clear light of day. It was a sunny afternoon and so, as he left the window, the room was entirely lit.

"Here, have some wine, little bird. It might help you relax a bit."

The girl sat at the edge of the bed and took the wineskin that her husband was offering her. She nursed it for a moment before giving it back to him wordlessly. Sandor sat next to her and turned his head to appreciate her stunning beauty. She was shyer than ever, wringing her hands while biting her lip once more.

After a few moments, Sandor gently pushed her down on the bed and laid on his side next to her while leaning on one elbow, his other arm loosely set around her. He kissed her and she parted her lips for him but as he broke from their embrace, she kept her eyes tightly shut.

Sandor cupped her cheek while caressing her chin with his thumb. "Look at me, little bird," he demanded softly. She opened her eyes at once and the newlyweds stared at each other for a few seconds.

"See, it's not that bad. Don't be afraid, little bird, I won't hurt you." Sandor knew it wasn't completely true, but the girl needed to be reassured.

"I know that, Sandor," she answered, smiling timidly as she raised her hands to reach his broad shoulders.

The little bird's eyes were still somewhat frightened but Sandor could also distinguish blind trust gleaming behind their veil of nervousness. This realisation reassured him, and he pressed his burned lips to her luscious ones once again. She kissed him back and relaxed under his touch while he caressed her silky hair and neck. As the little's bird small hands were getting higher on his back, Sandor grabbed one of her breasts with one of his large hands. The girl moaned softly into his mouth, giving him all the encouragement that he needed to go further in his enterprise. His fingers instantly went searching for the laces of her dress and as he found them, he tried to untangle the mess that they were in as best he could in his frantic state. After what had appeared to him as an epic and interminable battle, the bloody laces finally yielded under his hands. Sandor felt the rabid dog in him take control over his mind as he gripped the fabric of the girl's fine dress and pulled it from her lean body before throwing it carelessly onto the floor beside the bed in one fast movement. He also made short work of her smallclothes, treating them as if they were enemies to be eliminated and they quickly joined the gown in a shambolic pile on the floor. _Calm down, dog! You'll scare the poor girl to death_. His wife tried to cover her breasts with her hands and moved her thighs upward in an attempt to hide her cunt but Sandor put a stop to that, pushing her arms away with his hands and getting on top of her to hold down her legs.

"Don't hide yourself from me, little bird. I want to see you," he rasped softly against her hair. She listened but lowered her eyes while her whole body coloured in embarrassment. _This girl has no fucking reason to be ashamed of her looks,_ Sandor thought, almost angrily.

The little bird was lying naked as her nameday beneath him and Sandor took a deep breath while drinking in the sight of her perfection. _Seven bloody hells, she's even better than I remembered_ , he realised, while gazing at her round and creamy teats and flat stomach. Her little pink nipples were pointing at the sky in the most arousing fashion as Sandor lightly pinched one of them between his forefinger and his thumb.

"You're fucking perfect, girl, you don't have to be ashamed."

The girl bashfully lifted her eyes to gaze at her husband. "Really? I am… to your taste?"

A laugh of astonishment came out of Sandor's mouth. "Did you ever doubt it? Fuck, girl. I turned half-mad a dozen times while waiting for you to be mine. I even left the buggering Kingsguard for you without a bloody second thought."

"You left the Kingsguard for me?" the little bird said weakly, clearly astounded by the news.

Sandor grinned at her naivety. "Why did you think I left them? A lord's titles are not worth spit to me, all I ever wanted was to get you." He was now stroking her soft skin, taking his time as he explored the wonders of her young body from thighs to teats before adding, "And now, I want to take you."

The girl tensed at hearing that and flushed from head to toe. _I'd be nervous too if I were her, with a bloody beast looming over me._ Sandor leaned closer to his bride and pressed his mouth against hers. She responded immediately and opened her plump lips as if she was begging for his tongue to invade her hungry mouth. After a few minutes he broke from their kiss and stood up on his knees as he suddenly realised that he hadn't even really glanced at her cunt yet. The girl stiffened once again and locked her thighs together.

"Relax, little bird," Sandor told her as he separated them with his strong hands.

A deep blush coloured his wife's creamy skin but she didn't resist and let him open her legs completely. While fondling the inside of her thighs, Sandor gazed at her sweet cunt with a whole new hunger. He knew he had to taste it. The scarred man quickly took his tunic off as the room was getting far too hot and pressed both of the girl's white thighs onto the feather bed while he brought his head closer to her delicious folds. In a moment of passion, Sandor took a deep whiff before plunging his tongue into his wife's cunt and tasting it. The little bird gasped in surprise but quickly began to loosen up as small whimpers came out of her pretty pink lips. _Now, this is music that I'll never tire of listening to._ With an expert hand, Sandor unlaced his breeches to release his aching cock as his other hand was busy helping his tongue pleasure the girl. He grabbed his manhood and slowly began to stroke it in order to release a bit of his own growing tension as he was determined to take his time to make the experience as enjoyable as possible for his little wife. Sandor knew that he would want to fuck her as often as possible and was hoping that the little bird would share his _interest_ in this activity.

The girl was squirming, her breathing coming faster than before as her soft moans got louder, all to Sandor's extreme satisfaction. He couldn't last much longer; soon, he would have to fuck her and his cock was more than ready to invade that sweet tasting cunt that his tongue was greedily exploring.

"Oh, Sandor…oh…" The little bird had taken a hold of her husband's hair while beginning to wriggle quickly.

She then cried Sandor's name one last time while all of her muscles tensed in ecstasy for a blessed moment, before her whole body relaxed once again. The new husband stared at her, pleased with himself, and went to kiss her plump lips. The girl seemed happy and amazed at the same time but also slightly tired.

"You liked that, did you?" Sandor asked while smirking at his bride.

She nodded and smiled sweetly at him. Sandor rolled on his side and hastily slid out of his breeches before returning to the cradle of his wife's thighs. Her eyes widened as she glanced at her husband's swollen cock for the first time and the man couldn't help but grin at her reaction.

"Now I fuck you, girl. Ready?" he rasped in her ear.

She nodded nervously and Sandor kissed her again as his right hand was leading his rock hard cock into the sweet warmth that lay between her thighs. She was already soaking wet from her previous climax as Sandor slowly thrust his full length inside of his wife's entrance. The girl cried in pain while he groaned in pleasure. Her sweet cunt was so tight that it almost hurt him. Sandor moved his head back and took an instant to gaze at his little bird's pretty face: it was tensed and tears were pearling at the corner of her closed eyelids but she stayed silent and didn't complain. _Good girl_ , Sandor thought proudly while drying her face with his fingers. He softly pressed his mouth on hers again before resuming claiming his husband's right on her.

It wasn't an easy task to stay calm and go as slowly as he had originally planned. In fact, it was bluntly impossible and Sandor quickly lost any control over himself. He grabbed her perfect arse with one strong hand and began fucking her faster and deeper. Small nails started to dig into his broad back and Sandor heard the girl whine in what he read as building pleasure. His breathing was ragged as he stared at his wife; Sandor had never fucked such a goddess and there was no buggering way that he could last any longer.

As his release came upon him, he groaned into his wife's hair, "Oh, Sansa, you're mine now…" He kissed her and she tightened her grip around him.

After a few seconds, Sandor rolled onto his side so as not to crush the girl's fragile body. She went to lean on his torso and he grabbed her waist possessively. A hush had fallen onto the room but he had never felt so good in all of his miserable life. He was even starting to believe that he might have reached a turning point and that his existence could indeed turn out to be not that unpleasant from now on as he finally felt complete. With a grin on his lips, Sandor jerked his head to admire his young wife's beauty and passionately pressed his mouth on hers. When they broke from their kiss, he mused in amazement that even a brute like him could fall in love.

**The end**

 


End file.
